


Memory Charm

by the_oxfordcomma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Like you'll hate me for how slow, M/M, Malfoy Family Drama, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Post-Canon, Scorbus, Scorpius-centric, Slow Burn, Social Justice, a lil trauma, because it's not canon and you can fight me, let's fix the systemic issues of the wizarding world shall we?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_oxfordcomma/pseuds/the_oxfordcomma
Summary: "Those notes made up the raw emotional language of Albus, and Scorpius refused to do anything but add to them, give them syntax and vernacular idioms and an alphabet so the world could read them."***War is messy, and so is its aftermath. To everyone else, Scorpius Malfoy is an inconvenient grey area with no place in a Wizarding World trying to heal and forget. He and Albus Potter believe otherwise. And as any child of this generation knows, you can’t let anyone write your story for you.***This story is complete and finished! Including fanart!





	1. What Scorpius Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> Why do all my large fics come from my being pissed off? If you hated Cursed Child, this is the fic for you. If you loved Cursed Child but wouldn’t mind pretending it’s 2015, this is also the fic for you. This monster’s 66k (I know, what is that girl doing with her life?), and I’ll try to post at least one chapter every week. It's all written, so it's just a matter of my remembering to post. Please drop a comment and tell me what you think!

It came back to him in flashes, usually. Quick spurts of repetition appearing out of the void of time that lived in his head, a void he could put shape and order to if he decided he wanted to think about it. Somewhere, his past was a complete picture, an uncut fabric stretched back into the time before, well, now. Somewhere, it all made complete and perfect sense. Like a history book. Cause and effect, pattern and shape and reasons for everything. Logic in an unbroken, plodding line. But in the twisting river of his memory there were gaps, places where a stone parted the flow, where a tree diverted the river’s direction. In order to see those places — the space under the stone, the spot hidden behind the tree — he would have to rip them up by the roots. And he didn’t want to do that. He was afraid of what would come up if he pulled too hard.

Like what his father had said to him that night. It had been about midnight, he remembered that. Almost, because it hadn’t yet become the 19th. They were alone in his parents’ room. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder. He had stared at the wall, and wondered why he wasn’t crying. He had understood that his mother was dead, that the police were investigating, that the man who had killed her had been under the Imperius Curse, and was now dead as well.

But he couldn’t remember the words his father had used.

The officers had come through the front door a few moments later, let in by the housekeeper. His father had left to meet them, and the closing of the study door echoed through the front hall and up to the second floor. He had managed to wonder why someone would kill a woman who had been fatally ill for years.

And then the housekeeper had asked: “Would you like some tea, love?”

And a new voice had answered: “No, thank you. I’ll just wait here.”

He had crept out the double doors of the bedroom then, and peered over the banister from the second floor landing into the front hall.

“What are you doing here?” There were probably politer ways he could have asked, but he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry. I was just with him when he got the call. I’m…I’m really sorry.”

They didn’t say anything for several moments.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing. Really. I —“

“What?”

“I shouldn’t —“

A pointed glare had produced a tiny package from inside a pocket. It contained a disembodied pair of ears. It warranted an invitation to the second floor landing.

Only when the ear successfully hung outside the crack in the door to the study could they hear inside. It felt odd to press an alien ear against one’s own.

“—and you’re positive?” His father’s voice was choked and tight.

“That’s my personal _and_ professional opinion.”

“I’m going to need a little fucking more than your _opinion_.“

It was odd to hear his father swear. He almost never did. Did grief make you do that?

A sigh. “I wish there was more I could offer you. The perpetrator couldn’t exactly give us a statement after he’d jumped off the nearest tall building.”

“So what was it then? In your _personal and professional opinion_.”

It sounded like something scuttling up a wall. Like Parseltongue, maybe. It wasn’t a word he had heard before. But he would remember it. That, he would remember perfectly. He would try look it up later in the school library, in any government archive he could reach. He scoured shelves and poured over books obsessively, desperately. He found nothing. There was no record of it anywhere except the case file, and that was restricted.

But he hadn’t searched alone. He had a new presence at his side after that, the same presence that sat, knee pressed against his own, as they listened from the second floor landing through a pair of stolen ears.

“What the fuck is that?” His father was swearing again.

“I cast it at you, once. Sixth year.”

“Well, _I’m_ not fucking dead, am I?”

“Only a handful of people could know—“

“Are you telling me I’m a suspect in my own wife’s murder? Because you tried to kill me once when we were sixteen?”

“I _never_ —“ A cough. “I never wanted that. I didn’t know what it would do.”

“But whoever…whoever sent that man— they knew.”

There was a pause. At the other end of the ears, it seemed likely to be a nod. “They also knew there was no one left alive who knew the counter-curse.”

“Do you mean to tell me _you_ don’t know it?”

“I —“

“Bet you didn’t know it then either, eh?” Biting. One of the few things that remained unforgiven.

No one spoke. Not in the study, and not on the landing. His father sat heavily in a chair, the legs scraping the wood of the floor. It was grainy and jarring through the ear. The questions of war haunted the air of the house.

“Do you or your wife have any enemies?” The tone was formal, but the voice that spoke it fought with a desire to shake.

His father began to laugh. He might have been crying at the same time. It was a horrible sound. When he did speak, it was almost a whisper.

“More than we have friends.”

Up on the landing, he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up into the striking green of the eyes opposite him. He’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone up there.

“You do have friends,” Albus said. He wasn’t wearing his glasses like he did for school.

Scorpius swallowed hard. “You promise?” he whispered.

Albus closed his hand around Scorpius’s forearm and squeezed. “I promise.”

It would take a lot to make him forget that.


	2. Syntax and Vernacular Idioms

Scorpius Malfoy could not concentrate on Transfiguration theory for another minute. The words were beginning to swim on the page like an angry school of mandatory assignment fish, and he was almost positive he had just read the same sentence three times in a row. He closed the book with a huff and scrubbed slowly at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Time for bed. He pushed himself off the couch and left the common room, slipping sideways to accommodate a few third years coming down the stairs. Scorpius shook his head as they passed. They should be going to sleep too, saving their hours of blissful unconsciousness for sixth year when their homework turned piscine on them. He didn’t say this aloud, of course. Little buggers should know better. Not that he had, at their age, but third year had had its own set of problems that weren’t exactly conducive to sleeping. Scorpius climbed the stairs quickly.

He paused at the door to his room, listening. Albus was playing the guitar in there, as he usually was. Scorpius rarely saw him without it these days; he practiced for hours each day. It was the kind of single-minded goal pursuit that Scorpius wished he could apply to his Transfiguration homework, or anything, really. He wasn’t attention deficit by any means — not like Albus’s cousin Hugo, anyway, who constantly had to be doing at least two things at any given time — but he certainly wouldn’t be able to pour his soul into one task day after day like Albus did. But, Scorpius had to admit as he listened to the notes reaching out to him from under the door, it was certainly paying off. The notes sounded impossibly complicated. And impossibly beautiful.

Scorpius twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible in an effort to avoid tipping Albus off that someone was listening. Albus couldn’t completely avoid people hearing him play, given how much time he insisted on spending on it, but sometimes he could be secretive about it. Albus had so few secrets, both to Scorpius and the world. (If Scorpius was honest with himself — which he often was — he had very few secrets Albus didn’t know, too, though he kept some from the world.) Scorpius very badly didn’t want to interrupt him.

But the paint on the frame of the door stuck and emitted a traitorous crack as Scorpius pushed it open. Albus looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, stilling his fingers against the strings.

Scorpius sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Sorry. Sounded great, though!”

Albus flushed and pretended to tune a string. “It’s nothing.”

Well _that_ couldn’t stand, now, could it? Scorpius crossed the room and sat down next to him, placing his books on Albus’s bedside table. “It’s art, is what it is!” he cried. “You’ve been practicing like crazy.”

Albus shrugged modestly. He was a quiet person — at least, in comparison to his family, who could be very, very loud — but he wasn’t usually downright shy. He was averting his eyes now, though, and flushing even darker in a pretty good approximation of it.

“I like it. I like how it feels.”

“Al, you’re really good. Like, _really_ good.”

Albus smiled for real this time, though he still kept his eyes downcast. “I don’t know where it’s going yet,” he said. “I was just kind of messing about.”

Scorpius blinked. “Wait, you _wrote_ that?”

Albus finally met his eyes, a hint of real pride showing through. “Yeah. I did.”

“Mate, I’m so proud of you!” Scorpius reached over and ruffled Albus’s hair. Albus grinned, eyes crinkling. It was Scorpius’s favorite expression of his, for sure. And he didn’t want it to end. So when the idea hit him, he leapt up from the bed and turned to face his friend. “We should write a song together,” he said, pointing a knowing finger at Albus. “We’d be an unstoppable team!”

Albus’s smile stayed put. It made something glow brightly in Scorpius’s chest. He shrugged. “Sure. You got any words?”

Scorpius scoffed at him. “I’ve got a million parchment scraps of words,” he admitted. They were written on everything, too. Corners of notes, homework assignments (which he then had to turn in with pieces missing), backs of photos and in every notebook he owned. Someday, he’d get them all in one place. “But I meant we should write this song you’re making right now.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have words first?”

“Says who? Besides, you’re clearly the musical genius here, so I think you should take the lead.”

The blush was back. “I’m hardly a musical genius.”

“Well.” Scorpius plopped back down on the bed. “We’ll put that question before some prestigious uni program someday, but for now, I’m sticking by it.” He nudged Albus playfully with his elbow. “What do you say?”

Albus paused and pretended to think about it, toying with a couple strings. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“Brilliant!” Scorpius flopped back against Albus’s pillows, looking up at the green fabric of the curtains. Nothing happened. He sat up on his elbows to look at Albus, who hadn’t moved, but was watching him with a confused look on his face. “This is my optimal listening position,” Scorpius explained, like it was obvious.

Albus rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said. “So…”

“So play me what you’ve got.” Albus nodded, so Scorpius let his head fall back into the pillows and closed his eyes, waiting. After a moment, Albus began to play. It was even clearer, even more achingly lovely than it had been through the door. He opened his eyes to watch Albus play. It was a powerful sight, as it always was. Albus’s long, graceful fingers stretched over the neck of the guitar, moving steadily, confidently. The pads of his other hand tripped over the strings in a pattern both complicated and simple at once. His eyes traveled between his hands over the length of the instrument, then closed softly, making his body look completely at ease, like the guitar and even the music itself were simply an extension of himself. Scorpius was transfixed.

He lost track of the song, lost track of time itself. He leaned back up on his elbows to see better, feeling himself drawn towards the sight in front of him.

And then he realized that Albus was staring at him.

“What?” he asked, his voice oddly hoarse.

“That’s it,” Albus said.

Scorpius shook his head to clear it, mentally kicking himself for not paying attention. “Oh! Er, play it one more time?” he stammered. “I’m absorbing.”

He made sure he kept his eyes closed this time, so he wouldn’t be distracted. Albus started to play again, starting from the beginning. He repeated the melody, Scorpius realized. There was a chorus in there somewhere. Scorpius let the music fill him up, thrum through his chest and beat through his body with every pulse of his blood. He was breathing in what Albus was creating, and slowly, bit by bit and note by note, he felt himself understand something. Something deep, something true, something Albus had never told him before, because Albus didn’t have the words to tell it. Maybe he’d never told anyone before. It was a feeling, bittersweet and powerful, that throbbed and sang and lived under everything, try as you might to insist it didn’t. This song was a surrender to the fact that it was there. It was a feeling trying to hide and trying desperately to be seen at the same time.

And Scorpius had the words for it.

His eyes shot open, and he jolted up sharply, crossing the room to Albus’s desk. Albus’s playing faltered, but Scorpius waved a hand frantically.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop!” he cried. “I’m looking for a writing implement!”

Albus chuckled, but kept playing all the same. “Desk drawer,” he said.

Scorpius scrambled back onto the bed with a pencil and leaned a notebook on his knee, scribbling furiously. But the notebook kept folding over his thigh; he couldn’t write that way. He mumbled to Albus to keep playing, walking on his knees over the blankets to rest the notebook on Albus’s back. Albus laughed, starting the melody over from the beginning.

“Stop laughing,” Scorpius ordered. “I can’t write.”

Albus obeyed, though something about his posture told Scorpius he was still smiling. Scorpius listened, and wrote. He found himself nodding, humming along, the words flowing easily now, making iambs and rhymes and odd metaphors that he thought Albus would probably like. He ended up with his back against the headboard again and his knees up to hold the notebook properly, chewing on the end of the pencil as he tapped out rhythms on the wood behind him. It was peaceful, and almost too easy, water flowing downhill towards the sea. And, he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a really good song. He met Albus’s eyes over the guitar again and again, grounding himself, just watching, studying his friend as if he could tease out the miraculous power of what he was doing.

Some of Albus’s roommates had come back and were getting ready for bed now. Scorpius paused when Koby McCarty and his twin brother Logan emerged from the bathroom and Logan began peeling back his sheets from his bed.

“Do you want us to be quiet?” Scorpius asked, hoping with all his might he’d say no.

“Nah, mate.” Koby pulled the covers up to his chin. “It sounds great.”

“That shit’ll put me right to sleep, it will,” Logan agreed, stretching. “‘S really calming.”

Scorpius shared a look with Albus and chuckled. “Our pleasure.”

So they went back to it. They changed the order of the lines and tweaked the words. Not the chords, though, those never got changed. Those notes made up the raw emotional language of Albus, and Scorpius refused to do anything but add to it, give it syntax and vernacular idioms and an alphabet so the world could read it. They kept writing, kept weaving the music, spinning it into gold like something out of a fairytale. Scorpius felt his eyes growing heavy, and more than once suppressed a yawn, but they couldn’t sleep yet. Not when they hadn’t finished. Two more roommates came in to go to sleep, but Koby, who had stayed up listening, shushed them immediately.

By the time they were done, everyone in the room was either asleep or half so, including Scorpius and Albus. Scorpius tapped the paper, punctuating their song, and looked up at Albus.

“So, shall we test it all out?”

Albus nodded, deep green eyes alight. “Definitely.”

And so they did. Albus played, and Scorpius sang, reaching his hands above his head to keep time on Albus’s headboard. Midway through the second chorus, Albus opened his mouth to sing, too, emitting a harmony that twined perfectly around Scorpius’s voice. It was incredible.

They finished the song, and silence descended on the room. They were the only two still awake, and as they looked at each other over Albus’s guitar, they grinned like fools.

“Fuck, I’m so tired.” It had been hours since Scorpius had first come into the room. His eyes were already closing, and Albus’s bed was so comfortable and he was so pleased, and it smelled like Albus’s house — so, like Albus, he guessed.

He heard Albus laugh softly. “You look asleep already.”

“D’you mind?” Scorpius mumbled. He couldn’t open his eyes now, even if he wanted to.

“Nah.” He felt Albus pull the notebook and pencil from his hands, heard the guitar being placed back in its case. Scorpius turned on his side, sinking further into the pillow. He felt the bed dip a moment later, felt Albus’s knees brush his as he laid down. The two of them had definitely grown since the last time they’d done this. Mainly, that meant they couldn’t avoid being draped over each other at least a little. They’d definitely end up that way by the morning. But Scorpius didn’t mind. Albus was warm and solid, and just his being close meant that everything was going to be all right. That was what it always meant.

Scorpius fell asleep like that. All at once, with his shoes on, on top of the covers with his knees touching Albus’s and his hand an inch from Albus’s nose, though he didn’t know it. Albus might have brushed his hair away from his forehead before he fully lost touch with the world, but he might also have imagined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I’ve never written a song ever?  
> Also, can the John Green fans catch the reference?  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Hugo Meets the Giant Squid and Learns the Facts of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a text post once that talked about Slytherin students speaking sign language with the mermaids, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. So, not my idea, but I needed to use it.

It was Saturday afternoon, and Scorpius was watching the lake through the window on the bottom level of the Slytherin common room. He had wanted to snag a spot on the upper level — being above the water line meant that it had better light for writing — but most of the couches were full up there, and besides, he wasn’t really doing his homework anyway, so he might as well watch things swim across his field of vision, things which occasionally eyed students through the glass. Someone had compared the common room to an aquarium a few days ago, sparking a house-wide debate over who was really in the exhibit: the marine life or the Slytherin students. In any case, Scorpius enjoyed the bluish tint of the light through the lake water that lit the lower common room, and the fact that between his and Albus’s textbooks and unessential parts of their school uniforms, they had managed to block off all four couches in the far center cluster from being occupied by other people. It was a coveted location, and by the time the sun went down, it would definitely be full, no matter whose textbooks were there. Such is the nature of common room couches.

Next to him, Albus sat on the arm of the couch, plucking out a new tune on his guitar. From the stuttering pace of it and the amount of times Albus went back and played the same part over again, it wasn’t yet ready for words.

Scorpius watched two merpeople — they were both mer _maids_ , actually; any Slytherin who could be bothered to pay a little attention excelled at Care of Magical Creatures — swim fast around a plimpy, making it spin wildly in the water. The round, dopey-looking fish was essentially a pest, and good for a prank, if you were a merperson. Scorpius had seen this particular trick performed dozens of times. He placed his hands leisurely behind his head as he watched one of the mermaids distract the plimpy by blowing an underwater raspberry at it. The second one pounced, grabbing the plimpy’s spaghetti-like legs. The mermaid tied them in a knot, and she and her friend cackled — silent through the glass — as the plimpy drifted away, fish eyes staring and mouth still in a constant gaping gurgle. The mermaids high-fived, and Scorpius grinned. Every once in a while, you could see the ways the lake creatures had learned from the students over the years, just as the students learned from them.

One of the mermaids caught sight of Scorpius watching and preened a little, glad someone had seen her accomplishment. She grinned and held up a webbed hand in a U shape, moving it back and forth in front of her mouth. _Funny_. Scorpius nodded and smiled back at her, making the sign for “well done”. At least, he really hoped it was. Just because the merpeople could understand basic sign language from decades watching Slytherin students through the glass, didn’t mean they were always very talkative. It had been a while since Scorpius had last used it. But the mermaid kept grinning, and with a flick of her sinuous tail, she and the other mermaid disappeared into the gloom.

“What are you doing?” Albus asked, not pausing the music. He had moved on to the song he and Scorpius had written a few weeks ago, their first joint one. Scorpius smiled. Albus must really think it was good if he was still playing it weeks later.

“Talking to the mermaids. This is the sign for “well done”, right?” Scorpius made the sign again.

“Yeah,” Albus said. “Also congratulations and other similar phrases. Why was a mermaid congratulating you?”

“Other way round,” Scorpius replied. He pointed to the plimpy, who still couldn’t control its motion and was floating shakily across the window near the surface.

Albus was prevented from offering his opinion on the plight of the plimpy by the arrival of Brenna Yaxley, Scorpius’s best friend aside from Albus and inexplicable favorite of the merpeople. She didn’t talk with them much if there were a lot of people around — she had a lot to lose by encouraging a rumor that she was close with magical creatures — but somehow the merpeople seemed to understand that. Scorpius was definitely out of that particular loop, but he hoped the merpeople had noticed that he was close with Brenna and liked him as well.

Brenna leaned over the top of the couch, giving Scorpius an eyeful of deep brown eyes and almost a mouthful of corkscrew curls.

“Presenting your favorite Gryffindors,” she announced. When she moved out of Scorpius’s face, he could see Rose Granger-Weasley shoving a few of Albus’s textbooks aside on the couch perpendicular to his. She had a large rucksack with her that was probably filled with the homework she and Albus were supposed to do at some point this afternoon.

“Whoa!” Scorpius craned his neck to see Rose’s brother Hugo staring wide-eyed at the window, just as the light dimmed slightly. He followed his gaze through the glass, which was currently partially covered by enormous purple tentacles. Hugo scrambled around the couches to the one with its back against the glass and pressed his fingertips to it, looking up excitedly as the Giant Squid oozed its way across the window.

“You’d think he’d never seen the Gigantic Cephalopod before,” said a voice from behind Scorpius. Owen Kahukore — O.K. for short — was Hugo’s partner-in-zaniness, the only one of their little group with blessedly unimportant parents. He plopped down on the fourth couch, taking up half of it, and smirked at Hugo.

“Well, excuse me if I like big words and giant squids,” Hugo snapped, briefly taking his eyes off the huge suction cups gripping the glass next to his head.

Albus and O.K. laughed, and for a minute they all sat there, Rose removing papers from her back and Brenna producing a vial of nail polish from her pocket and Hugo staring and Scorpius grinning and Albus still playing their song from the arm of the couch.

O.K. cleared his throat and looked up Albus.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, mate,” he said, “but can I make a suggestion?”

Albus stopped playing. “Yeah, sure.”

“Know what would really make that song? A cello.”

“Do you play the cello?” Scorpius asked, a little stung by the insinuation that their song needed anything to fix it but intrigued all the same.

“Yeah!” O.K. smiled widely.

“I thought you played the trumpet,” Brenna said.

“And the piano,” Albus added.

O.K. simply nodded. Hugo cackled, still at the window even though the squid had gone. “O.K.,” he declared. “You’re a marvel!”

“I love how charmed you are by our creatures of the deep,” Brenna said.

“Well, we don’t have merpeople or gigantic cephalopods in our common room, so let me live a little.”

“Best house to be in, mate,” Scorpius told Hugo. “I’m tellin’ ya.” He leaned backward over the back of the couch, stretching his arms so they popped pleasantly. He had just noted the fact that Albus had stopped playing to look at him when something solid collided with his elbow, bumping it viciously. Scorpius clutched the couch to avoid falling into Albus. “Ow!”

Andreas Brant paused to throw a glare over his shoulder at Scorpius to accompany the blow. “Don’t stick your bits where they don’t belong, spawn,” he sneered.

“Bite me,” Scorpius bit back. His elbow stung, and his shoulder complained from being shoved at a weird angle. Andreas threw an arm around his girlfriend and kept walking towards the dormitory stairs. _Ah, yes_ , Scorpius thought, rolling his eyes, _I too love to bully people right before I get laid._ What a shit-head.

“Spawn?” Hugo asked.

“Death Eater Spawn,” Brenna supplied. “It didn’t roll off the tongue very well so they had to shorten it.”

O.K. wrinkled his nose. “For real?”

Brenna grimaced. “Sweetie,” she said, inspecting her nails, “welcome to the bitterly divided Slytherin House.”

“But you’re not Death Eaters,” O.K. insisted.

“You know that,” Scorpius said. “We know that. But we’re too close for comfort for Brant and his fundamentalist clique.”

“Wasn’t Andreas’s dad killed by Death Eaters?” Hugo wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Brenna said. “McNair’s dad was the one that did it. War was over by then and everything.”

“That’s why I haven’t hexed his bollocks off,” Scorpius grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and permitted himself to pout a little. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, but he was also living proof that it didn’t have to make you an asshole. Then again, Andreas had a target for his emotions about that. Scorpius just had an empty space where a villain should be. He wondered what he might do if there was a concrete person or group of people to take the blame for his mother’s death.

“The point is,” Brenna said, drawing him back to the present, “Jason McNair’s dad has been on the run or in Azkaban for his whole life. He visits and whatever, but Jason’s not a Death Eater and was raised by a cousin in France or something.”

“Then why doesn’t he go to Beauxbatons?” Rose asked.

“He doesn’t speak any French,” Brenna replied, like it was obvious.

“Anyway,” Scorpius continued, “to Brant and his mates, if you’ve been _breathed on_ by a Death Eater, you’re as good as tainted. Which is inconvenient for them, because there are some actual wannabe Death Eaters in this house — Rowle, Gibbon, maybe a few others — so he has to sit next to some of them in Transfiguration. But then, so do we.”

“Slytherin House: Lunacy in Every Shade,” Albus said, spreading his hands like he was reading a marquee.

“You should graffiti that in the bathroom,” Scorpius suggested.

Albus grinned wickedly. “Already have.” Scorpius matched his expression.

Brenna, meanwhile, continued the explanation. “Then there’s the majority of people who totally don’t care and don’t have to care because they’re not involved. Then there’s those of us with shitty connections and no murderous intent.”

“Scorpius has murderous intent when they stop serving candy at dinner after Halloween,” Albus offered. Scorpius shot him a look.

“And then there’s Albus,” he said. “No one quite knows what to make of him.”

A complicated expression came over Albus’s face then, a mixture of emotions that Scorpius couldn’t dissect. It looked like Albus himself didn’t know what to feel.

“But we love him,” Brenna said, reaching over Scorpius to place a hand on Albus’s knee, “so we let him stick around.”

Albus still had that odd look on his face. He flicked his eyes to Scorpius’s face and then away again to watch the lake.

“Slytherin’s a microcosm for the whole school if you think about it,” Scorpius told the circle.

O.K. was nodding, chin on his hand. “Fascinating.”

“But you came here to do homework,” Albus said, looking at Rose.

“Actually,” Hugo said, “I came here to see a cephalopod.”

“Yes,” Rose said firmly, shooting a look at Hugo. “Let’s do this. I have to finish this assignment so I can do another one.”

“Oh, right.” O.K. put his feet on the table. “I forgot you’re doing twelve billion classes.”

“It’s just so I can graduate early.” Rose flipped through a textbook and pulled out a worksheet stuck between the pages.

Brenna reached out and poked Rose with a foot under the table. “That’s my smarty! So proud of you, babes.”

Albus put the guitar down and pulled a folder out of his bag. He nudged Scorpius with a knee, who moved over to give him space on the couch.

“I still don’t know why you want to go to uni early,” Hugo said. “Hogwarts is amazing!”

“Doesn’t have funky enough magic for our Rosie though,” Scorpius told him.

“Better magical drugs, too,” Rose added, “but that’s not the point.”

Hugo grinned. “You’re a delinquent.”

Rose simply shrugged, fishing a quill out of her bag. “Doesn’t matter as long as I’m too smart to get hooked or caught.”

Hugo lolled his head against the backrest of his couch toward O.K. “She’s my hero,” he said happily.

“How’s your project going,” Albus asked Rose.

Rose sighed, flattening her worksheets. “Not bad.” she said, nodding. “It’s kind of on hold for now while I cram all this school.”

Scorpius leaned his elbows on the table. “You still deciding between Oxford and Cambridge?”

“Not really a contest,” Hugo said. “She’s in love with Cambridge.”

“Way to pick one of the only wizarding university programs your mum didn’t actually invent,” Albus said. It wasn’t that much of an overstatement. A few wizarding university programs existed before Albus’s aunt was appointed Minister for Education, but there were only a handful of tiny colleges within the oldest universities in the world. In the last decade, Hermione Granger-Weasley and her powerful campaigns had created wizarding colleges within dozens of Muggle universities across the United Kingdom. There were even some in France and the States now. They’d sprung up like weeds, making after-Hogwarts options infinitely more flexible for Scorpius’s generation. And making his decision about what to do after seventh year infinitely more complicated. Scorpius told himself he’d worry about it next year, but his father probably wouldn’t let him procrastinate that long.

“I can show you a bit,” Rose offered.

“Yes!” Brenna cried. “Show us the magic!”

Rose smiled and sat up straighter, pointing her wand at the air above the table. The five of them gathered around, leaning in to see. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air began to coagulate in front of them, swirling and shaping itself, becoming thicker, darker. It bubbled into an amorphous shape a foot above the table, and then it rumbled, low and continuous.

“It’s a storm cloud,” Scorpius realized.

The tiny storm cloud flashed a tiny lightning flash and struck the table, making all of them except Rose jump back. She smiled and waved her wand, and the cloud disappeared. The rest of them burst into applause, earning some odd looks from the other people in the common room.

“They can’t hear it,” Rose explained.

“What do you mean?” O.K. asked.

“The cloud is just illusion magic,” Rose said, “though it took me forever to figure out _that_.” She rubbed a finger over the table, showing that it was not, in fact, burned. “The tricky part is getting it so only the people watching can hear it.”

“Brilliant!” Albus declared.

“What do you use it for?” Brenna wanted to know.

“Theater,” Rose said. “Stage effects and whatnot.”

“Cool!”

“All right,” Rose said, tapping two hands on her worksheet. “Focusing now.”

“What are you working on?” Scorpius asked, sliding the sheet towards himself. They were Potions short answer questions, essentially what-ifs about ingredients that he knew drove Rose nuts. She liked theory, not lists. “I did the first part already. Here.” He reached into his own bag and pulled out the assignment, tossing it to Rose.

“I’ll do the next part,” Albus offered, pulling it towards himself. “You do your other thing.”

Rose looked skeptical. “It’s just review for the quiz anyway,” Scorpius told her. It was true. He’d finished his part in much less time than he thought it would take.

“Fine.” Rose pulled three new textbooks out of her bag. The rest of them stared. “I multitask,” she said defensively. She and Albus got to work, quills scratching over the paper. Hugo and O.K. mumbled something about an experiment, then went off to sit at the piano that sat against the enormous window. The vibrations went into the lake, Scorpius knew. They were probably trying to figure out — like anyone with piano skill in Slytherin had done before — which sounds attracted which kind of creatures.

“Scor,” Brenna asked, tone ingratiating. “Can I paint your nails?”

Scorpius groaned. “But then I can’t touch anything!”

“Why don’t you just put a drying spell on it or something?” Rose asked without looking up.

“Oh, no,” Scorpius said, shooting an exasperated look at Brenna. “This must be authentic, non-magical nail painting. She’s a purist.” He swung his feet up into the couch between them. “Can you do my toes instead?”

Brenna considered this, then nodded. She Vanished Scorpius’s shoes and socks, then magically cleaned his feet.

“Purist, huh?” Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Selectively purist,” Brenna primly. “Nuance is a virtue.” She twisted the little bottle open and began to paint Scorpius’s toenails a dark green.

Albus and Rose lapsed into quiet as they worked. Scorpius leaned over his knees to watch Brenna’s brush leave oddly chilly lines over his toenails. She chewed the inside of her cheek, pausing every once in a while to hoist her hair over the opposite shoulder with a flick of her head.

“You good, Bren?” he asked softly.

Brenna sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I just wish they would pick on the actual evil-doers for a change.”

Brenna was one of the toughest people Scorpius knew. It was only due to their secluded location in the common room and the mind-wandering effect of repetitive motion that she was even complaining about this at all. She never liked people to know that things got to her, especially that stupid nickname. Scorpius could relate. He also knew that the Andreas Brants of Hogwarts only vented their rage on people like himself and Brenna and Jason McNair because they knew they wouldn’t actually do anything to harm them in return. A well-placed hex occasionally, _maybe_ , but nothing like the response likely to come from the people who really deserved to be called Death Eater Spawn.

Brenna was right about the fact that most of the student body was not involved in this — debate, fight, whatever you wanted to call it — and simply wanted it to disappear. Not to say that most people didn’t have an opinion, or that people weren’t forming opinions about it on a daily basis and spouting those opinions off without bothering to check their sources. Scorpius and Brenna were infinitely tired of it, but it was the reality of their world. They would hold their heads high in the corridors and laugh as loud as they wanted to, and they certainly had enough friends that they didn’t feel alone, but some days it was easier than others to deal with the fact that their family pasts followed them around like a bad smell.

At least Scorpius could complain about it at home. Brenna might be vocal about her opinions at school, but she never shared them when she left it. Her entire family was crawling with former Death Eaters — real ones, not people like Scorpius’s father who had government jobs now and hadn’t had so much as a speeding ticket since they were teenagers, or people like Jason McNair’s father who weren’t around at all. Those of Brenna’s family members who weren’t permanently in Azkaban were mostly in and out of prison in some sense or other. Very few, if any, repented the crimes they had committed, or their ideology. Her parents in particular were under house arrest like Scorpius’s grandfather. Scorpius knew for a fact that her Christmas dinners were even more awkward than his, and that Yaxley events sometimes ended in violence. At least he’d never had that particular problem. Brenna didn’t talk about her family that much, but Scorpius had gathered that she was very quiet at home, that she kept to herself and took every precaution possible to ensure that no one knew how far she’d run from the party line. She certainly didn’t share the fact that her lifelong dream was to be a barrister who defended the rights of magical beings in Wizarding court.

“It’s not just here,” Brenna said, pulling Scorpius out of his thoughts. “These kids learn it from their parents.”

“You didn’t learn it from yours,” Scorpius reminded her.

Brenna huffed out a tiny, sarcastic laugh. “I learned plenty of things from my parents,” she said. “Ideology just wasn’t one of them.”

They lapsed into silence again, listening to the sounds of the common room and O.K.’s piano playing. Sitting sideways as he was on the couch, Scorpius could feel the light brush of Albus’s elbow on the small of his back every time he reached the end of a line. It made something go a little sideways in his chest, but he was too preoccupied with predicting the push and pull of Albus’s touch, trying to guess when it would come back, to really analyze it. He didn’t have to turn his head to know exactly what position Albus was in. He would be in his concentrating pose, left hand holding up his head, fingers disappearing into hair already tousled from adjustments to said concentrating pose. His glasses would be ever so slightly askew from where his wrist pressed into the frames, green eyes behind the lenses shadowed by dark brows as they flicked over the page. He held his pencil oddly, too, Scorpius knew, fingers wrapped around it in a way that prevented Scorpius from ever quite placing what was wrong about it, even though it was definitely incorrect in some way.

He was just getting to the curve of Albus’s spine in his head when Brenna finished painting and looked up at him suspiciously. His eyes went wide. Had she read his mind or something?

“You’re just going to Scourgify all this off as soon as I leave, aren’t you?” she accused.

Oh. That. She was right; he was definitely going to do that. Scorpius offered her a guilty smile and mentally chastised himself for being a nervous wreck.

“I don’t understand why you’re so squeamish about nail polish,” Brenna said, exasperated.

“It’s creepy, Brenna!” Scorpius argued. “When I go to the loo half-asleep in the middle of the night I get all freaked because I think they’re not my toes!”

“It’s true,” Albus said. “He woke me up to tell me once.”

Rose smiled and rolled her eyes. “You two are going to die without each other at uni.”

Scorpius leaned his head back on Albus’s shoulder, looking dramatically at Rose. “Well then you’ll miss us, won’t you?”

“Nah,” Brenna decided. As Scorpius placed his face into something appropriately tragic, she scrambled over the back of the couch. As if walking around it was so difficult. “I’ll see you all later,” she said. “I have to go meet Hailey to figure out Hogsmeade stuff.”

Scorpius frowned. “I thought you were going with Kazou Atkinson.”

“I am.” Scorpius just blinked at her. “Don’t worry about it. Bye.” And with that, she was gone.

Scorpius removed himself from Albus’s personal space — he was actually surprised Albus had not told him to bugger off or elbowed him purposefully in the back at that point — and leaned his hands on his forearms over the table. He thought about what Brenna had said about learning ideology from one’s parents. If people were just copy-catting their beliefs like Rose would copy his section of the homework later, then nothing had really been solved, had it? Scorpius had always had an odd position in the world, had always known that and made his peace with it. But lately it felt like it was getting worse, like the voices that told him he didn’t belong were getting louder and more forceful. And if Hogwarts students were learning that from their parents, then he would bet his father was experiencing the same thing.

Maybe it had always been this bad. Maybe people always needed to ostracize someone. Scorpius chewed on a fingernail and watched the lake. Maybe he had only just begun to see the world for the mess it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter Fandom: Lunacy in Every Shade. Extra points if you can find the classic stares-at-exposed-stomach moment.


	4. The Family Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may legitimately be my favorite. It makes me feel all warm inside.

Scorpius tugged his trainers out from under his bed with two fingers and shoved them onto his feet one after the other. With a quick glance at his watch to make sure he was still late, he bounded down the stairs and swiped a carefully wrapped package off the hall table. A dozen portraits watched his progress fondly from the walls as the sparkles from the wrapping paper reflected tiny pricks of warm, afternoon light onto the frames. Scorpius arrested his motion against a doorframe and leaned his head through till he could see his father seated sideways on the couch. Draco’s feet were propped on a cushion and his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He appeared to be comparing two of many sheets of messily stacked parchment that littered the coffee table.

“I’m off,” Scorpius announced. “Want me to steal you some cake?”

Draco chuckled. “Only if it’s chocolate.”

Scorpius loitered in the doorway, joy dimming just a little. He had gotten used to the sight of Draco reading alone, but that didn’t mean he liked to see it. Astoria had always enjoyed reading while leaning against his father on the couch, the two of them lost in their own separate worlds but tethered to reality by each other. She’d read out loud to the two of them from that position pretty often as well. Scorpius could almost see his younger self seated on the floor, face upturned to the storytelling, even though he’d never done that in this house. It was a good memory, one he didn’t mind hitting him once in a while.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

Draco pulled off his glasses and set one of the pages on his lap, tossing the second onto one of the piles. “Just briefs for work.”

“But it’s summer, Dad.”

“That’s only an excuse for you, you know.”

“It’s also the weekend,” Scorpius reminded him. He kept his tone light, but he really was starting to get concerned about it. His father had been working later and later hours the whole month. Scorpius thought it seemed like more than he’d ever worked before. There was a determination about it too, like when he had a big case to solve, though there was none Scorpius knew about at the moment. It was like he had something to prove.

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose, but he was still smiling softly. “I know. I promise I’ll stop soon. Aren’t you late?”

“ _Fashionably_ late, obviously.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Draco affected a haughty expression, then smirked good-naturedly. “Go on, get out of here. Have a good time.”

Scorpius gave a small wave. “See you later!”

 

 

 

The portkey deposited him on a grassy knoll. One direction carried the smell of the sea on the wind; Scorpius knew the cliff dropped away to the beach further on. He scanned the horizon — unnecessarily, since he already knew it relatively well — shading his eyes from the bright sun. Albus’s house sat atop the nearest hill, full-scale Quidditch hoops just barely visible around the gables. The only other human structure around for miles was another house just over the ridge on the other side of the Quidditch pitch. Rose and Hugo’s family lived over there.

Music and laughter began to pour out of the house as Scorpius walked closer, double-checking that his present was still intact. A pleased knot of anticipation took up residence in his stomach, as it always did when he was faced with the Potter-Weasleys. Since even the most basic of family gatherings with them could involve at least thirty people, any stranger would feel some tiny amount of apprehension at diving in. But Scorpius was already feeling a grin spread across his face.

The front door was open, admitting him into the wondrous chaos of the house. Music seemed to float on the air instead of from one specific place, even though Scorpius could see a record player in the living room from his place in the hall. Family photos winked and waved and blew raspberries at him from the walls. A small flock of snitches spiraled their way down the staircase and out past his head through the open door. Ahead in the kitchen, he could see Ginny and Albus’s uncle Bill arguing over a dish, wooden spoons pointed in each other’s faces while Teddy levitated plates through the window to the patio. Grandma Molly (she refused to be called anything else, even by Scorpius) appeared to be trying to enter the kitchen despite Angelina and Arthur’s friendly attempts to keep her out. To Scorpius’s left, two other Weasley uncles were perusing the bookshelves in the library, running their fingers over the well-loved titles as Molly (the Second) climbed up and down the sliding ladder. He was about to call a hello to her, but a splat and a burst of laughter erupted from his other side, causing him to turn in time to see a whole group of familiar Weasleys throw back their heads in laughter as Hugo discovered his hair was covered green slime. Hugo grimaced at his cousins and gingerly prodded the mess on his head. The color clashed horribly with his hair.

Fred Weasley looked at Hugo appraisingly. “I think it looks better this way, cuz.” Hugo rolled his eyes and shoved him amidst more laughter.

Something warm and sinuous bushed against Scorpius’s leg. Quaffle, the family pet kneazle, was usually appropriately aloof for a feline, but sometimes she could be friendly.

“Hey, Scorpius!” Lily Potter grinned down at him over the second floor railing. She was standing with Lucy Weasley and another girl that he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to recognize, but who looked a little shell-shocked to see him. He bet this was her first time. A house full of Albus’s relatives was a lot to take in for a novice, as Scorpius well knew. He waved back, scratching Quaffle absently on the head. He heard Lily call to Albus upstairs as he stepped further into the house.

James ducked out of the circle of cousins. “Hey, mate!” he called. “Thanks for coming.”

“Happy birthday,” Scorpius said brightly, holding out his present. “Try to pick something square next time, will you? It was really difficult to wrap.”

“Aw, you didn’t have to wrap it…” James turned the package over in his hands, then looked back up at Scorpius, face lit with anticipation. “Is this the duct tape?”

Scorpius nodded. “Zebra print, red stripes, and, er…I think ladybirds?”

“Perfect!” James looked fit to burst with excitement. “This is the best, Scor.”

“Hey,” Fred cut in, wrapping an arm around Scorpius’s shoulders, “I thought you said my present was the best!” He poked Scorpius in the ribs. “I’m just messing, mate. This is just what we need.”

“For what?” Scorpius asked. The Potter-Weasley clan had enough of a capacity to be strange that he didn’t think to question James’s request that he be given rolls of patterned duct tape for his birthday. But if they were actually prepared to share the answer…

“For the house,” James supplied. “It’s real old and covered in totally nasty magic. Most of the spells we try and put on it to spruce it up slide right off within a couple weeks. We’re pretty sure it’s never seen duct tape, though.”

“Can I use the zebra stripes for my doorframe, James?” Roxanne asked.

James clutched his present protectively to his chest. “No! These are mine. Get your own.”

Scorpius felt a tap on his shoulder then, and turned to see Molly, who had come down from the library ladder.

“Hagrid said you were coming,” she said.

“Is he here?”

“Yep,” James said. “Spent all morning making my cake with Dad. He totally broke one of the whisks. Good thing we have, like, thirty-seven at this point.”

“How are you, Scor?” Molly asked.

Scorpius had had a mighty crush on Molly Weasley around second or third year, and he wasn’t sure it had completely dissipated. Scorpius spent enough time with Albus’s family to have been adopted in some sense or another, but it was Molly who had first recognized his potential in that regard. He’d been an angry first year, faced with some new knowledge about his family that the other students seemed to know and were very willing to share with him uninvited. Molly had found him behind the Herbology greenhouses and made no mention of the tears he was trying to hide. She had simply offered a hand to pull him upright and taken him to Hagrid’s, where the rest of the family brood were having their bi-weekly tea. She’d sat him next to Albus and told him to eat as many biscuits as he wanted. Molly was still like that years later. Crush or no, she was great to be around.

“Pretty good,” Scorpius told her. “Still a bit confused about my own present, but what else is new?”

“It’s for Grimmauld Place,” Molly explained. “The old Black mansion? Uncle Harry inherited it and it wasn’t doing any good just sitting there, so we’ve all moved into it for uni.”

“Oh!” Scorpius didn’t know that. All the Weasley cousins under one roof and of legal drinking age? It was probably mental and heaps of fun living there!

“They say it’s easier for us to all live together or something,” Roxanne added, “but it’s probably so they can spy on us and make sure we’re not doing drugs.”

“I think it’s just so they wouldn’t have to pay dormitory fees,” Molly said, “but I suppose it’s possible.”

“You live there too?” Scorpius asked Rose. She nodded. She was studying Innovative Magic at Cambridge now. Scorpius had tried to grasp what exactly she did there, but the best he’d gotten so far had been “magical special effects.”He supposed it was the same kind of thing she’d been working on in her spare time while at Hogwarts. It made sense she’d live in Grimmauld Place, then.

“And we’re not doing drugs,” James said firmly. “We’re doing duct tape.”

“Hi, Scorpius!” Harry had appeared with Ron and Albus on the main staircase over James’s shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”

James whirled around. “Dad, he brought us duct tape!”

“Excellent!”

“Hugo,” Ron asked, “is that slime in your hair?”

“He lost, Uncle Ron,” Fred explained, neglecting to add what Hugo had lost and how he had lost it. Scorpius might bet money that Hugo himself didn’t know.

“Just do us all a favor and clean it up before your mum gets back here, please.” Ron grinned at his son. “We don’t want it ending up in the food again.”

“Uncle Ron,” Fred whined, “that was _one time_.” Ron simply stuck out his tongue and went to join the others in the kitchen.

Albus made his way around the circle to stand in the little clump that had formed in the hallway. “Any news on food?” he asked.

“Well, we have all the plates now,” came a voice from behind Scorpius, “so we should be eating soon.” Scorpius turned to the side to let Hermione and a tall stack of plates into the entryway.

“Scorpius!” Hermione exclaimed, weaving past.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” she said without slowing down.

“Hugo told us about your music. You and Albus have to play us something later,” she called over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah!” Fred said, clapping both Albus and Scorpius on the back. “We want to hear the future rockstars so we can say we knew you in the early days.”

“I’m not sure I want to know you in my early days.” Albus smirked.

Fred feigned a chest wound. “Insulting!”

“Dinner!” came a call from the direction of the dining room. Drawn by the inexplicable telekinesis of fresh cooking, the circle gradually pulled itself into the other room and out the French doors into the backyard. Lily and her crew thundered down the stairs behind them.

“Wouldn’t you know him in his early days whether or not you heard him today?”

“That’s true.”

“Bloody lot of smartarses in this family, eh?”

“I want to sit next to Teddy.”

“Well, _I_ want to sit next to Ron.”

“Aw, cheers, Harry.”

“James, just pass the plate to your sister the Muggle way, please.”

“Did anyone check the Puddlemere score?”

“Hugo Weasley, is that slime in your hair?”

 

 

 

 

Dinner proceeded with lots of laughter, and anecdotes floated around the table in time with the mashed potatoes. The sun slipped over the horizon. McGonagall made a brief appearance to wish James well, just barely catching him before he grabbed a floating snitch out of the air above the dining room table and enlisted half the family to play Quidditch in the backyard. He extended the invitation to Scorpius, but he declined it. He knew James was only doing it to be nice. Scorpius was an avid watcher and follower of Quidditch, but he was very, very bad at playing it. He wasn’t much of a flyer in general, either, not so much a heights thing as it was a speed thing. Albus begged out of the game, too, even though like any child produced by Harry and Ginny, he was naturally adept.

But when the players trooped up the stairs to the walk-in broom cupboard on the second floor, Albus followed them too. Not knowing what else to do, Scorpius stayed close on his heels.

“I thought you weren’t playing,” Scorpius said.

Albus leaned against the railing to peek into the dining room. “That afraid of playing Quidditch, are you?”

“Just wondering,” Scorpius grumbled. Albus was still attempting to halve his body with the banister. “What are you even doing?”

“Checking all the adults are outside.”

“Are we doing something illicit?”

Albus grinned. “Just a bit. Come on.” He climbed to the second floor landing and watched the last of his cousins fly off the outside deck into the growing dark. For a moment, they had all but disappeared, and then their forms were illuminated by light. Scattered cheers reached them from below. The game was going to begin any second now.

Albus kept walking around the hallway. He pushed open a door at the corner, leaving it open for Scorpius to come through.

Albus hadn’t turned on the light, but the moonlight streaming through the windows was enough for Scorpius to see that this must be Harry and Ginny’s room. Albus breezed through the room and disappeared through another doorway, a muttered _Lumos_ lighting his way. Scorpius pulled out his own wand and followed before he had a chance to feel awkward about where he was.

The study contained a large bookshelf, a plush-looking couch and armchair, and two solid desks, one filled with semi-orderly piles and one looking like a small tornado had hit it. Albus was kneeling by the neater desk, poking his wand at the bottom drawer.

Scorpius took the opportunity to study the wall next to him. All available wall space in the room was filled with something, much like all the surfaces in Albus’s house. It was definitely a lived-in place, this house, so saturated with proof that people existed, grew, and loved other people under its roof. Scorpius had the sudden irrational conviction that the Potters could never, ever move. They were too far embedded in the grain of the wood and the texture of the stone. They were part of it, and it was part of them. Definitely, unequivocally a home. The modest London townhouse where Scorpius and his father lived was home, too, but not like this. Maybe that’s why they had moved.

The light from his wand traveled over an odd case in the wall, opened and empty except for circular indentations in the felt. The home of the flock of snitches, he realized. Each of the indentations had a date and a location written underneath. Manchester, 2001. Dublin, 2007. (That had to have been a Harpies victory.) Hogwarts, 1998. He wondered how Harry convinced the snitches to come back to their box once they were out.

Next to the snitch box was an Auror’s certification with Harry’s name on it in beautiful, almost illegible calligraphy, placed inside a large frame of construction paper and dry macaroni noodles. “Lily Luna” was scrawled in clumsy crayon in the corner of the frame. Under that was a framed copy of one of Ginny’s article’s in the _Prophet_. Scorpius figured it was probably her first.

But it was the space of wall next to these trophies that made him pause. There were several photographs, mostly of James, Albus, and Lily, but right at eye level were two side-by-side. Large group photographs, not in the best of shape, as if they’d been handled a lot. The one on the left contained several people Scorpius could recognize. There was Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione — was that Professor Longbottom? He certainly hadn’t reached his peak at that point, had he? He could see Albus’s uncle George and Angelina as well and that…that must be Fred. They were all so young, probably no older than Albus and Scorpius were right now. Some of them were smiling and some weren’t, but they all had a determination in their eyes that kindled something in Scorpius as he looked at them.

The people in the second photo had the same look, but Scorpius was sure he didn’t know any of them. There was one young man towards the center, though, who looked so much like Harry that he must have been the original James. That would be Lily beside him then, probably Sirius with an arm over his shoulder. It was a better look for him than his mug shot, that was for sure. Scorpius had seen one other picture of Sirius besides that wanted poster, a portrait somewhere in Malfoy Manor. He was young, maybe ten or twelve, sat with his brother and cousins. (Scorpius remembered thinking that young Narcissa looked eerily similar to her current self.) But this Sirius had a rakish grin on his face and was looking at the camera like it would just make his day to be challenged by it. Scorpius wished he could be like that sometimes.

“That’s the Order of the Phoenix,” Albus whispered close to his ear. He had padded silently over on the carpet and now stood just off Scorpius’s shoulder.

Scorpius swallowed. “And that..?”

“Dumbledore’s Army.” Albus reached out a finger to point at the Order photo. His chest just barely brushed Scorpius’s shoulder. They were definitely standing very close together. “That’s Grandpa James, obviously, Grandma Lily, Sirius, Remus—“

“Teddy’s dad.”

“Yeah. And those are Neville’s parents.”

Scorpius pointed at a pair of redheads near the back and tried to bring his heart rate down a little. “Those have to be Weasleys, right?”

“Gideon and Fabian. They’re Prewetts, actually. They’re Grandma Molly’s brothers.”

“I’ve never met them.”

“Neither have I. They died during that war.”

“Oh.” Scorpius could see Albus’s reflection in the glass covering the photo. He was looking back at Scorpius.

“Come on,” Albus said, breaking the contact. He held up his prize: a glass bottle that sloshed appealingly. “Let’s go.” He slipped back through the doorway. Scorpius took one last look at the photos. Sirius Black winked.

“You know,” Scorpius said as he followed Albus back into the hall. “I’m surprised James isn’t getting wasted at this event. It’s his birthday, after all.”

“Oh, he’ll have a friends party on his real birthday and get properly hammered and crash at Grimmauld Place,” Albus told him. “This is the family party.”

Scorpius contemplated that on the way to the third floor. Albus flicked on the light this time when they reached his bedroom, and made a beeline for his desk, where he shoved papers off to the side and placed the bottle of alcohol on top. Scorpius could see now that the label proclaimed it Blishen’s Firewhiskey. Albus clambered up onto the desk and opened the window. As Scorpius watched, Albus stuck his left foot through the gap, his left shoulder and then his right, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the frame. After his last limb joined him on the other side, he reached back through and grabbed the firewhiskey, pulling it after him.

By the time Scorpius completed a similar process (with a little more difficulty considering he had less practice at getting out of Albus’s window), Albus had already made himself comfortable on the roof, back against the window frame and resting the bottle between his knees and staring off past the edge of the shingles to where his cousins and siblings were flying in crazy, death-defying arcs over the illuminated grass. Far off in the distance, Scorpius could make out the shifting glimmer of the sea. Scorpius paused, pretending to look at the sky while he wondered how close to sit to Albus. They had been a breath apart down in the study, but they were drinking on a roof now. Were there different rules?

James scored a point off to his left and Scorpius decided that deliberating this was stupid. He would just land where he landed.

So he sat down, practically on top of Albus.

“Whoa,” Albus chuckled. “Drunk without a single drop of whiskey? That’s a skill.” Scorpius felt his face burn, and hoped it was too dark for Albus to see. He scrambled over a bit so he wasn’t touching him at all. He leaned his elbows onto his bent knees and fixated back on the game. _Not spastic at all, Scor. Real normal._

Albus took a sip from the bottle and passed it to Scorpius, eyes still on the Quidditch game. Scorpius grimaced as the whiskey slid down his throat. He was not yet at a point in his life where he actually enjoyed the taste of alcohol. The effects were usually worth it, but there was a mild amount of suffering to get through before that part. He wondered if any adults actually enjoyed the taste or if they just pretended to seem cool.

Scorpius cleared his throat and passed the bottle back. “So,” he said. “Why am I invited to the family party?”

Albus shrugged. “Lily was allowed to invite a friend, so…” He took another sip.

“Well, I’m flattered.” Scorpius smiled despite himself. “I love your family.”

Albus laughed. “Me too. I don’t blame you at all.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to have a big family,” Scorpius said. He took the bottle from Albus and rested it on the rough surface between them. He tilted it from one side to the other, watching the liquid glint and swirl around inside. “Even when Mum was alive, it was usually just the three of us. Our most extended family gatherings were five at most.” And suddenly, his heart turned leaden, sinking lower in his chest. It happened sometimes, often without warning. He knew it happened to his dad, too, as much as he tried to hide it from him. Odd things sometimes set it off, and sometimes he could fight it till it dissipated, but this made sense.

“Is it…” He could tell Albus was studying him, could feel his gaze like a physical touch on his face, but he didn’t look up. “Is it lonely?” Albus asked.

Scorpius thought about it, tilting the bottle some more. “No. Quieter, definitely, but…I have Dad. He makes sure I never doubt that. I just…” He thought about not saying it, but this was Albus, on a roof, under the night sky, on the Cornwall coast, so he put a name to the weight in his chest. “I miss my mum. A lot.”

Albus reached across his body towards the bottle without saying anything, and Scorpius tilted it towards him for easier access. He pulled it from Scorpius’s grasp and replaced the cool glass with his own hand.

Scorpius’s heart shot in a new direction. He looked up at Albus, who simply stared back, eyes determined as he held onto Scorpius’s hand. He didn’t pull away, and he didn’t hold on any tighter. Scorpius knew he was leaving it up to him.

Slowly, tentatively, swallowing down the apprehension in his throat, Scorpius tilted his hand so it slid more comfortably into Albus’s grasp, threading their fingers together gently. He, too, was giving Albus time and space to pull away. He didn’t. Scorpius hoped Albus didn’t mind that his hand was definitely clammy. Albus’s palm was a little sweaty too, but warm and steadying against his own. Scorpius’s heart was still beating a little faster than normal in his chest, but holding Albus’s hand felt…good. It just plain felt good.

Albus was looking down at their hands now. Scorpius squeezed his fingers, conveying his thank you through his grasp. Albus squeezed back. _You’re welcome._

Neither of them let go.

Scorpius tilted his chin upwards to look at the sky. Stars winked at him from above, inviting him to draw whatever patterns he wanted. Scorpius didn’t know what patterns he wanted to draw yet.

“You can see more stars out here than you can in London,” he said, for lack of anything better to say.

“Yeah,” Albus said. “I bet.” There was a pause as both of them craned their necks towards the sky. “I bet you know so many constellations,” he remarked. “Seeing as your whole family’s named after stars.”

“That’s true.” Scorpius wished he knew more constellations, honestly. He could see the Big Dipper and Orion easily enough, but he didn’t know enough to point out any others. “It’s definitely a thing. Comes from the Black side, mostly. You know, Sirius, Orion, Arcturus, Regulus, Pollux, Cygnus—“

“Cygnus?” Albus wrinkled his nose. “That’s fucking awful.”

Scorpius laughed. “I know, right? That one repeats, too. Like, more than one Black family ancestor look a look at their infant and hated it enough to call it Cygnus.”

Albus nodded sagely. “As if you needed any other proof that the Black family had a few screws loose.”

Scorpius could only agree there. He thought of Sirius with his arm around James. At least _he_ got a good name out of the whole experience, even if his initials were “S.O.B.”.

“I mean, no offense,” Albus said, “but why would your parents name you Scorpius when you could have been Leo or Lynx or something?”

“I’m going to name my child Hydra,” Scorpius declared. “Or Fornax.”

Albus snorted. “Those are good. What about…Chameleon? That’s a constellation, right?”

Scorpius reached for the whiskey. “Is it? I don’t actually know.” He took a sip and then spread his arm out as if introducing an invisible person. “Ah, yes, this is my firstborn, Triangulum.”

Albus slipped his hand out of Scorpius’s grasp to applaud. He didn’t put it back afterwards, and Scorpius’s hand was not the only part of him that lost warmth. He scratched the back of his neck and tried not to be disappointed.

“What about your names?” he asked. “You don’t meet an Albus Severus every day.”

Albus smirked. “Yeah, I think we’re pretty sure my dad was high…” He matched Scorpius’s grin and took another drink. “Not really. Honestly, I feel a bit weird about them.”

“Why?”

“I mean, they’re both famous wizards, right? And they were clearly important to my dad. He really admires them, I think. But…” Albus picked at a fingernail. “I don’t know, it’s like…no one else wants to talk about them. At least, not in the same way my dad does. I mean, people talk about Dumbledore, fine. He was head of the Order and fought Voldemort and generally gave zero fucks about people telling him what to do, but sometimes people start, I don’t know, telling a story about him and then they kind of…stop. Like they were going to say something else, but then they don’t say it. People never get that way about Grandpa James or Sirius or Grandma Lily or Luna. No one can ever stop talking about them. Hell, we _know_ Luna and she’s incredible. No one disputes it. But I feel like people dispute that about Dumbledore. It’s like there’s a prescribed place his stories have to stop or they’ll admit something they shouldn’t.”

Scorpius was riveted. He’d never heard any of this before.

Albus sighed. “And don’t even get me started on Severus. It’s much worse with him. Only Dad ever says anything actually positive. And people get really uncomfortable when he’s brought up. People don’t think I notice, but I do. James says my uncles all hated him. They’ve never said anything about it to me before, but…” Albus trailed off, looking back up at the sky. “Sometimes it might be nice to be Fornax, you know? Nothing secret about that.

“It’s like…” Albus searched the sky like he might find his answer there. “Like there’s a whole part of me I don’t know, and I’m afraid if I did know it, it’d be bad.”

“Shit, Al,” Scorpius breathed. “Sorry, that’s kind of rough.” At least Scorpius could properly name all his demons.

Albus shrugged. “Is what it is, I guess.”

“Would you ever change your names then?” Scorpius asked. “If you could.”

“I don’t know,” Albus said. “Change them to what?”

“Al…” Scorpius rolled the syllable around on his tongue. “Albert? _Al_ fred?” Albus scoffed. “ _Al_ exander? _Al_ onso?” He knocked his shoulder with his own. “Aloysius?” Albus burst out laughing at that, and Scorpius felt a small burst of pride. Albus could slide deep into a mood very quickly, and Scorpius knew what a feat it could be to try and pull him out. Without thinking about it, he threw an arm across his friend’s shoulders and tugged him in, squeezing briefly. Albus stiffened a little, but smiled at him all the same.

Encouraged by that smile, Scorpius pulled Albus in again, gently towards his chest. Albus only hesitated a moment before he slouched down a little more and rested his head on Scorpius’s shoulder. The top of his hair tickled the underside of Scorpius’s jaw. Albus pulled Scorpius’s hand around over his shoulders and linked their hands together again, resting them on his thigh as he replaced his head.

Scorpius was surprised at the lack of tension in the moment. Here they were, two best friends huddled together, hands clasped on a rooftop. It was rather nice. Comfortable. Almost…normal. Like something had slotted into a new place to find it fit there just as well.

Not to say there wasn’t a little tension, though. Because there was. Heat was slowly trickling its way down Scorpius’s spine from where Albus was pressed all along his side. And they were both quiet again.

“Is this ok?” Scorpius whispered, just to be sure.

“Yeah.”

Scorpius ran his thumb back and forth across Albus’s finger. He let his gaze slide back to the Quidditch game. He had totally lost track of who was winning. He wondered if James and the others could see them up there. He didn’t know which option he preferred.

“What are you thinking about?” Scorpius asked.

“Slytherin.”

“I think it’s a little late to switch houses, mate. Seventh year’s in less than two months.”

“I know that.” There was a pause. Albus turned Scorpius’s hand over and pressed just the tips of their fingers together, like a spider on a mirror. “I chose it, you know.”

“What?”

“I chose Slytherin as my house,” Albus clarified. “I asked the hat and it put me there.”

“ _What?_ ” Scorpius leaned away a bit so he could look into Albus’s face.

“I never told you this story?”

“No!” Scorpius shook his head. “But you can’t just _ask the hat._ It doesn’t work that way.”

“Yes, it does,” Albus insisted, moving closer again. “My dad asked the hat to put him in Gryffindor. It wanted him in Slytherin really badly.”

“Ok, but your dad is Harry Potter.”

“So?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Scor, I am completely not kidding. I asked the hat and that’s where it put me.”

“Fine! Fine, I accept that you can ask the hat. Why Slytherin, though? James was already in Gryffindor, and so was most of your family.”

Albus shifted a little against Scorpius’s side. “I know. James had been giving me shit for weeks, actually, saying that I was going to be in Slytherin and live in the dungeon and whatever. I was really terrified of being in Slytherin by the first day of school.”

“Pretty quick turnaround on that,” Scorpius said. He pressed the pads of his fingers against Albus’s, moving them farther apart and then closer again, like the spider was doing a push-up.

“Yeah.” Albus huffed out a laugh. Scorpius felt it on his clavicle. “I was stressing about it on the platform, but my dad said that Severus Snape had been a Slytherin, and he was still brave like a Gryffindor. Or something like that. Anyway, he said Slytherin would be lucky to have me, blah, blah, blah, but that I could ask the hat for Gryffindor if I really wanted it.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you didn’t.” Scorpius had considered his own sorting into Slytherin a simple fulfillment of the inevitable. Would he have chosen Slytherin if he had known he could have his pick?

“You in a rush or something? I’m getting there. Anyway, I found out on the train that Slytherins don’t really live in dungeons — thanks for that, by the way.”

Scorpius nodded, chin brushing against Albus’s hair. “You’re welcome.”

“And I walked into the Great Hall and it was everything I’d ever dreamed and my dad was up at the table and everyone around me was whispering. I could hear ‘Potter’ said a million times over, but I knew they didn’t know me. How could they, right? They just knew of my dad and maybe they knew my brother and they had me all figured out just from that. And that made me…I don’t know, it was a shitty feeling. But Dad had said Slytherins could still be brave, and that’s what I really wanted to be anyway, so I picked Slytherin because I thought it would be the last thing they would all expect Harry Potter’s son to do.

“And it was,” Albus laughed. “They all looked shocked. It was really satisfying.” He squashed the spider and grabbed hold of Scorpius’s hand again, tapping it on his knee for emphasis. “And I sat next to Juliet Jordan and she was talking about how excited she was to wear green and meet the Giant Squid and I was still terrified, but it didn’t seem like the end of the world, so I counted it a win.”

“Wow,” Scorpius breathed. “That’s a great story. I feel like I’m learning so much today!”

“You know, I charge for tutoring in my personal life.”

“Yeah, yeah. Did you ever tell your dad?”

“No,” Albus said, like he was surprised at his own answer. “I don’t think I ever did. I don’t know how he’d feel about it. I mean, I’m sure he wants me to be my own man and everything, but it might hurt to know your son doesn’t want to follow in your footsteps so much.”

“Maybe,” Scorpius allowed. He was absolutely positive his own father wanted him nowhere _near_ his footsteps at seventeen.

“You ready for our last year?” Albus asked.

“Shit, no,” Scorpius said. “It’s freaky.”

“If my mum schedules one more uni visit, I’m going to tear up the calendar.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to forget which is which when the time comes to write the applications. I keep writing these notes and then forgetting what they mean. I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous for uni in general. Excited, but nervous.”

“I kind of feel that way about my dad’s class,” Albus said.

Scorpius nodded. Harry taught Defense Against the Dark Arts these days, and had overhauled most of the curriculum of fifth and sixth year to make room for his in-depth seminar in seventh. Upperclassmen were strangely tight-lipped about it, considering it was a colloquium on the life of Tom Riddle. It encompassed both British Wizarding Wars in recent memory, and was mainly taught by immersing the class in borrowed memories that Harry had somehow tracked down and complied into some kind of coherent picture. By all accounts, it was intense, even for the students who had no personal connection to the material. Harry himself didn’t watch all of them, Scorpius was relatively sure. Everyone agreed it was an amazing class, though, and Scorpius trusted Harry. Still…

“Me too,” he told Albus. “I honestly don’t know how he does it every year.”

“He says it’s important,” Albus said. “And that he wouldn’t trust anyone else to teach it for the first time. He’s got pages and pages of notes and testimony, too.” He sighed. “James says it’s…rough.”

“Yeah.” He’d avoided bringing up the subject of Harry’s class at home. He didn’t think any of the memories Harry showed in his class belonged to his father; Draco was never eager to talk about that time in his life, and his pride would likely never allow him to share what he considered his greatest shame with an entire next generation of witches and wizards. But he had to be there somewhere. His grandparents, too. Scorpius was alternately fascinated and afraid of what he’d find out. And what would his classmates think?

“Scor?”

“What?”

“You ok?”

Scorpius swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just thinking about how my relatives are going to come off in the class.”

“They’re not the focus,” Albus reminded him.

“I know that, but they’ll be one of them if I’m in the room.”

“That’s true.”

“I have this weird feeling that somehow I’ll understand my family better after,” he said.

“Is that good?” Albus asked, almost a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

They lapsed into quiet again. In the absence of something to talk about, Scorpius had little to focus on besides Albus’s head on his shoulder and Albus’s index finger tracing down each of his own, one after the other, then starting again. Scorpius was surprised; Albus was not usually not as tactile a person. The head on the shoulder was not new. The two of them had casually flopped across each other for years. The tracing though, that was new, and the sensation traveled up Scorpius’s arm like an electric shock. He hoped Albus was too absorbed in his task to see that it was traveling down, too. He didn’t know what Albus would do with that information. Scorpius didn’t really know what he himself was doing with the information.

 _You really need to get yourself some answers, Malfoy,_ he thought bitterly to himself. _You know absolutely nothing for sure, do you?_

Albus’s finger moved to his forearm. Scorpius could practically hear his own heartbeat. How could something so simple do that?

He was saved from another unanswerable question by a shout from the back porch a level below.

“Weasleys and Co.!” Ginny called. “Dessert time!”

Before Scorpius could even think to move, Albus had reached across him and grabbed the alcohol, hiding it behind his own knees just as Ginny stepped out far enough to turn and see them on the roof.

“Come on, boys,” she said. “Don’t miss the cake.” She gave them a knowing look before going back inside. Scorpius felt his face heat up. How did she know?

“She doesn’t care that we’ve been drinking,” Albus said. He pushed himself upright and handed the bottle to Scorpius. “Or at least, she won’t pry as long as we’re not really drunk. You’re not, right?”

Scorpius looked into his eyes a little dazedly. “Er, no.”

“Cool.” Albus started to climb back through the window. “I’m going to return this. I’ll meet you downstairs, ok?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “Ok.”

And then Albus was gone, leaving Scorpius alone on the roof. Had he just imagined the feeling thickening the air between the two of them? Was this just normal Albus behavior? It bothered him that he didn’t know everything there was to know about his best friend. Tonight proved nothing if not that. And what would he have done if this wasn’t normal Albus behavior? What was he _supposed_ to do? It’s not like there’s a code for that kind of thing.

 

 

 

Harry and Hagrid’s cake was delicious. A different flavor than the one Albus had delivered to him at school for his last birthday, but still exceptionally good. Albus joined the rest of them at the table a few seconds after everyone got settled, sitting next to Scorpius and passing him a slice of cake like nothing had happened. Scorpius guessed that meant nothing did happen.

He didn’t have the opportunity to find out for sure for the rest of the night, and the longer the normality persisted, the more Scorpius began to think there must be nothing out of the ordinary about what happened on the roof. This was just how they were now. Spiders on a mirror.

They were made to sing for the family later though, just has Fred had promised, Albus on the couch in the living room and Scorpius on the floor by the fireplace. Albus’s cousins and aunts and uncles joined in for the choruses, and Hugo kept percussive time on the coffee table. Scorpius watched Albus’s fingers tease the melody out of the guitar strings. It was always mesmerizing and calming to watch. Albus caught his eye while he was doing it and grinned at him as George sang a note way off-key.

 

 

 

When Scorpius let himself back into his own house armed with an extra piece of cake, the light in the living room was still on. Draco was in the same position in which Scorpius had left him, except now he was asleep with a large book sitting on his chest, rising and falling with his breathing.

Scorpius gingerly took his father’s glasses off his nose and bookmarked the book before placing it on the coffee table. _The Book Thief_. Scorpius smiled to himself as he ran his fingers over the cover. O.K. had recommended it, and Scorpius had read it last year. He’d certainly never seen it in the Malfoy Manor library. He’d have to ask what his father thought about it in the morning.

Scorpius sat down on the coffee table. This year might change things about himself and his father. They’d probably each learn a lot about the other. The gulf between the two of them and the rest of the world would probably widen, too. Scorpius sighed. He didn’t want that to happen. He didn’t want them to be alone. But at least they had each other.

With a small surge of pride that he could, that he wanted to, Scorpius leaned over and pulled a blanket over his father, who didn’t even stir, sleeping the deep sleep of being secure in one’s own house. He wondered if Draco had ever covered his own sleeping father. Probably not. He couldn’t imagine his grandfather asleep, anyway.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, those are all real constellations. And I'm a tease. Love y'all!


	5. The Headline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter this week, but it's for a good cause, I promise.

Scorpius held his tie between his teeth as he shoved his arm into a robe sleeve and held up his Charms textbook with the other hand. He contemplated the fact that he probably wouldn’t be any more put-together at university. If he got accepted, of course.

He shook his head to himself, and stifled a yawn that would have dislodged his tie as he awkwardly made his way down the steps to the vaulted corridor in front of the Great Hall. He would get in _somewhere_ , he knew. His marks were above average, Rose had edited his personal statement, O.K. had made sure he had more than one extracurricular, and Hugo had drummed furiously on his shoulder until he had gone to the library and written his last few applications. Albus had also been helpful — until this morning, that is, when he’d neglected to stick his head through Scorpius’s door to make sure he got out of bed. Scorpius allowed himself a tiny selfish annoyance that his best friend, Mr. Would-Sleep-Till-4pm-Daily-If-He-Didn’t-Spell-Himself-An-Alarm, couldn’t be bothered to do Scorpius a solid the one time Scorpius was the one who accidentally slept in. He glanced down at his shoes, double-checking if they were tied, but looked up again at the sound of his name.

“Wait up!” Albus caught him by the elbow, just this side of painful. He snatched Scorpius’s tie out of his mouth and pulled him quickly out of sight of the door. Scorpius started at the sudden intensity, and his traitorous stomach did a small flip. Albus hadn’t said anything about their conversation on the roof on James’s birthday, and definitely hadn’t done anything that involved running his fingertips over sensitive parts of Scorpius’s body. Sometimes, Scorpius imagined it happening again. He wasn’t very approving of how his body reacted when he did that. He didn’t know if it was because it was Albus or because he was just-newly-eighteen and he was constantly at least a little starved for physical contact. He kept telling himself over the rest of the summer and into the beginning of the year that he’d talk to Albus about it. It was March now, and Scorpius was beginning to think that it was probably best he just forgot about it. There were too many easy distractions and excuses around these days, anyway, too many readily available reasons to talk about something else. Uni, for one, NEWTS and all that shit. Harry’s class, for another.

“Hey…?” Scorpius scratched at the inside of his wrist.

“Glad I caught you.” Albus looped the tie around Scorpius’s neck and took the textbook from his hands.

“What’s going on?”

Albus glanced at several places around the corridor before looking back down at the textbook. Scorpius stared at Albus’s drumming fingers against the cover and reached for the ends of his tie, suddenly needing to mirror the nervous motion.

“You know Des Carlyle? Carmen’s brother?”

“Yeah, sure!” Carmen had been a year ahead of them at school, and went to uni somewhere in Wales. She’d been good friends with O.K. and Brenna, and Scorpius had crossed paths with both her and Des a fair amount over the years. They were nice enough people, both bright and motivated. Brenna spent a lot of time escaping her family at their house.

“He was denied a job at the ministry this week,” Albus said.

“That Department of Mysteries one?” Scorpius didn’t know Des as well as O.K. did, but all you had to do was talk to him for longer than five minutes to know that he’d wanted a job there since before his age hit double digits. Scorpius remembered Brenna talking about the ridiculous amount of uni requirements and exams Des had had to take to qualify. If anyone deserved a job there…

“That’s the one.” Albus hugged the book to his chest.

Scorpius popped his collar and adjusted the ends of his tie, flipping one end over the other. “Why?”

“Because of his Death Eater connection.” Albus said.

Disappointment oozed through Scorpius’s chest and caused his hands to pause. Just what he needed to start off his week. Brenna was going to be crushed. Des had seemed such a decent sort, too. He wondered what he possibly could have done. “What Death Eater connection?”

“His father.”

It took him half a second to process, but Scorpius’s head shot up of its own accord. “Wait, _what_?”

“His father was a Death Eater.”

“I know _that_ ,” Scorpius snapped. “But what about Des?”

“His father was a Death Eater,” Albus repeated. He was clearly as satisfied with this answer as Scorpius was.

“But he sees the man once a year when he visits Azkaban! He barely knows him!”

Albus whipped his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Scorpius’s neck. The tie tied itself slightly too tight. “Apparently, that’s enough.”

“What the fuck?!” Scorpius tugged at the knot.

“I know.” Albus’s voice was flat and hard. He made no move to give back the Charms textbook.

Scorpius needed a moment or ten to process this, but there were still other things to consider.

“Why do I need to know this before I go in the Great Hall?” he asked.

“Because his family is suing,” Albus told him. “There’s an article in the _Prophet_ running this morning.”

“Fucking hell,” Scorpius whispered. Of course it would be all over the school already. Mail did come at breakfast, after all.

“Yeah,” Albus scratched at the binding of the volume in his hands. “Mum told me this morning. Lorcan Scamander might take the case.”

Scorpius heaved a sigh. This would not be an easy day. “Poor Des. Is it as bad as I think it is?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet. But it’s bad.”

“Has Brenna seen it?”

“Not sure.”

Scorpius pulled the book out from between Albus’s elbows. “We’d better find her.”

It didn’t take them long. Brenna was in the middle of the Slytherin table, paper spread out before her. Jason McNair and Darianelle Mulciber were reading over her shoulders, and a few others were hanging around too, seeking safety in numbers. Scorpius didn’t fail to notice that there were a few notables missing, though. Probably the ones with the less recognizable last names.

Darianelle looked up as Scorpius and Albus approached and shifted to the side so Scorpius could slide onto the bench. Brenna spared only a brief glance at the two of them before turning back to the article. Scorpius slid a supportive hand across her shoulder blades, taking in the bold headline.

 

DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES HEAD FORESHADOWS NEW DEATH EATER POLICY IN THE FACE OF LAWSUIT

 

By Selena Bennett-Jones

March 18, 2024

 

LONDON — Department of Mysteries head Samuel Crichton surprised government officials this morning with a promise to lead a charge to revamp the administration’s policies on employing former Death Eaters and their family members. The cabinet member criticized Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt as being too lax on this front since the end of the Second Wizarding War in May of 1998, saying that Shacklebolt has set the bar for acceptable too low.

 

“Just because you weren’t sent to Azkaban by a court doesn’t mean you had nothing to do with Voldemort, or that you still don’t,” Crichton told press earlier today. “We have people working every day in this administration who sat at the table with the Dark Lord and are still allowed to have a hand in our legal system, our education system, in every area of the government.”

 

The minister’s statements came in response to announcements of a major lawsuit regarding the Department of Mysteries’ recent decision to reject a job applicant on the basis of what the department termed “sufficient Death Eater connections”. Twenty-four-year-old Desmond Carlyle, son of convicted felon Tacitus Carlyle, applied to a junior position early this past year. “I am fully qualified for the position,” Carlyle told the _Prophet_ this morning. “I have always fully renounced Death Eater ideology and condemn my father’s actions to the utmost degree. There is nothing in my personal past or present that would prevent me from fulfilling the office.” Sources within the Ministry say the young Mr. Carlyle’s application contained all the necessary prerequisites for the position, but that his personal proximity to a proven Death Eater was too much of a security risk to pass departmental clearance.

 

Crichton classified his own decision regarding Carlyle’s application as putting a “roadblock” in the path of a long-standing, systemic issue. “You look at every administration for the last forty, fifty years,” he said. “You look at their policies and how many people they just let in, and you can see how Death Eaters managed to keep a stranglehold on government of this country for decades.”

 

Crichton said that he was not personally aware of any specific bigoted actions taken by Desmond Carlyle to disqualify him from government work, but that ultimately, lack of action does not indicate a tolerant ideology. “Death Eaters are a close-knit group of people, and they talk,” he said. “They share ideas and breed bigotry that have no place in our government, or anywhere, for that matter.” 

 

This is not the first instance of backlash within Shacklebolt’s own government regarding the treatment of Voldemort supporters at the beginning of his administration. Although numerous Death Eaters were arrested for their involvement in war crimes in the late nineties and early 2000s, only those convicted of using an Unforgivable Curse were sent to Azkaban. Several prominent Death Eaters, including members of the Yaxley, Mulciber, Lestrange, and Malfoy families, received reduced sentences or were put under house arrest due to lack of conclusive evidence. The string of protests in late 2000 and early 2001 focused mainly on an effort to encourage stricter punishment towards those who had a connection with the Dark Lord, and the question of the role former Death Eaters should be permitted to play in British Wizarding society is still hotly contested. More than one member of these notable families, including Postmaster General Laurel Flint and member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Draco Malfoy, currently hold government positions. When asked whether he advocated sacking current government workers with connections to these families, Crichton merely replied that he would “strongly consider it.”

 

Despite the controversial position of former Death Eaters within the current government, little debate has thus far occurred regarding the children of former Death Eaters. Those of Desmond Carlyle’s generation generally have little to no memory of the war, and many — including Carlyle — grew up removed from their imprisoned Death Eater parents. According to a recent poll done by the University of Oxford, 58% of wizards believe that former Death Eaters should not be permitted to serve in public office. The same poll found that 35% of wizards believe their children should be barred as well.

 

Minister Shacklebolt said in a statement that his administration is “committed to its mission of tolerance and openness with regard to its employees, and will not be discriminating based on association in its hiring or sacking practices now or at any future time.”

 

Crichton is rumored to be on next year’s opposition ticket for Minister for Magic. He says that if he does decide to run, restrictive policies such as the one he advocates for the Department of Mysteries will certainly be on the ballot.

 

“It’s a crucial issue,” he said. “The war is over for good this time, and we have to make sure it stays that way.”

 

 

This was not precisely news to Scorpius. Harry Potter had had a huge amount of influence on his father’s position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and very few people were happy about it. That in itself was not what set his teeth on edge. Conveniently forgetting to invite Draco Malfoy to meetings was one thing. Banning anyone with a blood relation to a former Death Eater was another thing entirely. That was news, in a sense. Unfortunately, it was more like Crichton was simply saying what everyone else had been afraid to say. Scorpius knew more than one person denied a job or a spot at uni because of what their parents had done in 1998 or 1981, but no one had been able to prove that that had been the reason. This article said otherwise. Crichton wanted to make it law. And with an election on the horizon, there was a good chance he might.

“Apparently there’s an op-ed on page 29 as well,” Brenna commented dryly.

“This is obscene,” Scorpius growled.

A snort sounded from somewhere behind his left shoulder. The little group huddled around the paper whipped around to find the source. Paul Wredding stood with his arms crossed in the aisle, a few of his sixth year friends flanking him. He had crossed his arms over his red-and-gold tie, and was looking down at the paper disgustedly.

“Got something to say?” Scorpius demanded.

“Of course you think the government shouldn’t punish Death Eaters,” Paul replied.

Scorpius swung his legs back over the bench to face him better. “When the fuck did I say that?”

“Des Carlyle is not a Death Eater!” O.K. insisted. “There’s no proof he did anything wrong.”

A shadow crossed the table briefly, dropping an envelope into Scorpius’s lap. The handwriting on the back was his father’s. He was pretty sure he knew what it said.

“So we should just let any old Death Eater spawn rub elbows with the minister?” Paul spat. “Isn’t that how it happened last time?”

Scorpius and Brenna were both on their feet now. The area around them had gotten quieter as students at nearby tables turned to watch.

“Death Eaters are evil, plain and simple,” Paul continued. “People are just afraid to acknowledge the fact that with that kind of darkness, you’ve got to isolate it till it dies.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Brenna shot back, “so if you want to make an accusation, you’d better go ahead and make it.” Scorpius saw the determined glint in her eye, and was damned glad he wasn’t on the other end of it. She’d make a great barrister someday, no matter what some ministry asshole said.

“That kind of thing doesn’t just disappear with the next generation,” Paul said.

“I have it on pretty good authority that it can, but do go on.”

Paul dropped his hands to gesticulate better. “Do you even care about the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands—“

Brenna held up a finger. “I’m going to stop you right there.” Scorpius felt a swell of pride as he backed up to give her more room. “Do you think I don’t feel guilty? Do you think I don’t stay up at night with my guts eating themselves because of the pain, the suffering, the _murder_ caused by people connected to _me_? You think I don’t have that hanging around my neck every fucking day? I know my own guilt, Paul, so don’t you dare presume to tell me what it should look like.”

Paul stuck out his chin stubbornly. “All I’m saying is that people should be held accountable.”

“Hey, Jason,” Brenna called, still staring into Paul’s soul. There was a sharp, sarcastic lilt to her voice. “You committed any atrocities lately?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Jason replied, face set.

Brenna turned to Darianelle. “What about you? Murder? Torture? Illegal substances?”

Darianelle simply shook her head.

“Ever used a racial slur?”

“Never.”

“What about you?” Brenna turned the power of her gaze on Scorpius. “When was the last time you jaywalked?”

“Probably last week,” Scorpius answered truthfully.

“Well!” Brenna’s eyes grew wide with mock horror. She took a step closer to Paul, pointing a feigned accusation at Scorpius. “Lock that kid up and throw away the fucking key, am I right?”

Paul looked like he wanted to speak again, but Brenna cut him off. “Look, you want to deny my grandmother a passport for hosting the Dark Lord’s dinner parties? Fine. You want to prevent my cousins who shoot Dark Marks in their backyard from being police officers? More power to you. They made choices and they were fucking wrong, and they’re paying for that. You can hold them accountable all you want. But you do _not_ take their shit out on people like Des, and you do not take their shit out on me right in front of my bloody face. Because _that_ is bullshit.”

She pointed to the group of students assembled around her. “We may be tainted, but there’s no way you’re going to be allowed to make us feel like it. There is no earthly reason why Des shouldn’t be able to get whatever ministry position he wants, or why Scorpius shouldn’t be able to get published in the _Prophet_ , or why Darianelle shouldn’t be a professional quidditch player or university professor or whatever the fuck she wants. Because all that alienation, all that putting people into corners and telling yourself they deserve to be there, that it’s justified? That’s also how it started last time. And the time before that. Read a history book, arsehole, before I smack you across the face with one.”

There was silence, and then a smattering of applause. Brenna scowled and held up a hand to cut them off.

“No,” she snapped. “No, stop. When I’m doing a performance, you’ll fucking know it.” She gave Paul once last rake with her eyes and snatched the paper off the table. Grabbing Darianelle’s hand, she left the Great Hall. O.K. and Jason and a few others followed close on her heels. A sliver of idea began to tickle the inside of Scorpius’s skull.

Paul’s face had turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he hadn’t moved a muscle. Scorpius took the opportunity to step into his space.

“Just so you know,” he said roughly, “because I’m sure you’ve never paid enough attention to notice — Brenna’s amazing, and she’s never, _ever_ , tried to shame someone for who they are. She’s surrounded by real Death Eaters all the time at home and has still managed to be a better person than you. So, really a model target there, mate. Luckily for you, we’re not the grudge-holding types. When you’ve pulled your head out of your arse, you know where to find us.”

With that, he grabbed a croissant and his textbook from the table, and followed Brenna out the door.


	6. A Movement Is Born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Homesafe in the hopes that they're enjoying this story from their tour bus. Go see them perform with Can't Swim, guys!

O.K. ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Bren, you’ve got to stop pacing, ey.”

Scorpius was inclined to agree. They’d all caught up to her in the near-empty courtyard — most people were still at breakfast — and she’d been behaving like an electrical storm ever since. She hadn’t said much of anything yet.

Apparently, O.K. was the key to something, because she sat down hard on the bench next to Scorpius. A wisp of dark hair fell in her eyes, and she blew it irritably away. Scorpius reached over and placed a hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth gently.

“Don’t do that,” Brenna snapped. “I’m angry, not sad.”

“I’m doing it to make you stop bouncing it like a crazy person.”

Brenna’s leg went still. “Oh. Sorry.”

Scorpius leaned forward to rest his knees on his elbows and Brenna slid a hand into his hair. He let her, as he usually did, because it felt nice and seemed to make her happy and didn’t involve any weird fluttery stomach feelings. It was a beautiful day, still chilly because of the early hour. The bench was under an enormous tree in the corner of the courtyard, sunlight lancing through the leaves to create intricate, shifting patterns over their little group. He let his head hang, studying the light dancing on the grass and over Albus’s tennis shoes. Brenna’s fingers made unhurried, parallel paths from the back of his neck to the crown of his head.

“So what do we do?” O.K. crossed his arms over his chest.

“Glad we’re all in agreement that we’re doing something,” said Brenna.

Hugo leaned back on his hands where he was sitting on the grass. “Call it family tradition,” he said with a wry smile. Brenna dropped her hand back into her lap.

“I thought the point is that we’re not our families.”

“Maybe you’re not _yours_ …”

Albus shot Hugo a look that said to shut up. Hugo shut up.

“No,” O.K. said, “we’re ourselves, ey? Nobody else. And that’s what we’ve got to say.”

“No offense, O.K.,” Brenna said haltingly, “but…we?”

“What?” O.K.’s brow furrowed. “We can’t be a crew on this?”

“You’re not the one who won’t be able to become a barrister…” Scorpius pointed out.

O.K. blew out a breath, nodding. “Fine, fine. You’re _your_ selves. But I want to be part of whatever we’re doing. Protesting against bullshit’s in my blood, friends. My grandparents made cardboard signs and marched on Parliament in the seventies. My dad marched _en utero_. I’m not sitting this out just because I have nothing to lose here.”

Hugo clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“Back to our original question…” Albus prompted.

“Right.” Scorpius opened his hands towards the little group. “What have we got?”

“Good looks and charm, always,” O.K. supplied with a grin.

Brenna returned it. “Always that.”

“A sense of levity in the face of adversity, apparently,” Hugo added.

“Editorials appear to have already been taken as a medium,” Brenna mused. “But we’ve got other options.”

“Do English wizards picket?” O.K. asked. “Or is that really not the style? Could we march on the Ministry, _hikoi_ * straight to Crichton’s office?”

“Much as I’d pay a horde of gold to see that,” Brenna said, “we’d have to _convince_ people to picket, which won’t be easy.”

“It’s not like we have a whole Order around to call up in a pinch,” Hugo reminded her.

“Don’t we, though?” O.K. asked, joining Hugo on the ground.

“Haven’t you been paying attention to your history, O.K.? Most of the Order is dead.”

O.K. shoved him. “I _mean_ , there’s got to be people who agree. They just need to know they’re not alone, right?”

“That’s a good point,” Scorpius allowed. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Brenna, who chewed on her lip contemplatively. Scorpius turned to Albus then, looking at him across the little circle. Even from his place cross-legged on the ground, dappled with light and frowning softly, he had such power, always simmering under the surface. Scorpius often didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew the first time he’d seen it, and that he’d trusted it unconditionally ever since. The only time it was really clear was in his music. Then, he knew exactly what it was and what it wanted, even if there wasn’t a name for it. And coupled with Scorpius’s words interpreting…that might really be something. The five of them had fucked around a little as a group, plucking strings and tapping at pianos and tables on slow afternoons, but they’d mostly only played songs by other people. Still…they could easily learn Al’s songs and perform them, harness that power to say what they needed to say. If Scorpius knew anything about that power, it was magnetic. You couldn’t ignore it. No one could. But like all great powers, Albus tended to hoard it. Scorpius didn’t know how he’d feel about sharing it with the world at large.

Albus looked up suddenly, everything flashing to the surface, and Scorpius’s breath caught in his throat. He had already decided to do it.

“We have music,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off Scorpius. They smiled at each other, Albus determined, Scorpius a little shell-shocked.

“Albus Potter, you’re a genius,” O.K. declared.

“What they want is to ignore us—“ Albus paused, glancing at Brenna and Scorpius. “Well, ignore you. Shut you out. We have to make it so they can’t. Make noise figuratively, so why not literally? Assert ourselves, you know?”

“So, what?” Brenna asked, leaning forward. “We’re going to become a world-famous pop-rock sensation and people will have to take us seriously?”

“Why the fuck not?” Hugo shot back. “I’m down for that.”

“We just need attention to start off,” Scorpius reminded her. “We’ve got some star power on our side here. Given this group sitting right here, if we announce we’re forming a band, that’s going to be worth a _Prophet_ interview at least, right?” From the look Albus was giving him, he had thought about that too. Scorpius wondered how long he’d been considering this.

“We’d need to have some music first,” O.K. declared.

“Write me some words,” Albus told Scorpius. “The two of you. It’s your message.” He shot his gaze to Brenna. “Right?”

Brenna nodded slowly. “We’ll work on it.”

“Good,” Albus said. “Let’s get to class, shall we?”

 

 

 

And they did, sort of. Well, they went to class, and played around with melodies, and wrote words. At first, Brenna helped, hunched over a table with Scorpius in the corner of the common room. Scorpius found it easier than he expected to write words without Albus’s notes to drive them. They wrote sharp, they wrote angry, they wrote the deepest, softest part of themselves that they shared with so few others. And after that last one, Brenna started to pull away. It was like she’d reached too far and not liked what she’d grabbed ahold of in the dark. Albus could definitely tell something was off, but Hugo and O.K. were blissfully ignorant. They had taken to shouting out possible band names in the middle of conversations. Sometimes they passed them in notes, too. Usually, those took the form of a potential line they could say onstage at concerts. (“Good evening, Manchester! We are PotterSpawn!”) There were a few good ones, but not any that really stuck. Scorpius tried to remember the gravity of what they were doing, but it was definitely a lot of fun.

And whatever was bothering Brenna was getting to be hard to ignore. Scorpius didn’t want to press her, but a week had passed, and if no one else was going to say something, then he should. He wondered if she was still concerned about the others helping. After all, it wasn’t exactly their problem. Albus and Hugo were the sons of heroes; no one would ever try and deny them anything, especially a place at the table. And O.K. wasn’t born into this fight. None of them really had a reason to be there besides the fact that they believed it to be right. Scorpius knew that was certainly a good enough reason — he couldn’t imagine that he’d behave any other way if the roles were reversed — but it still felt kind of…odd. It was closer to him and to Brenna. They had something to lose, and the others didn’t. But he knew it would be wrong, even foolhardy, to not accept help where it was offered for the right reasons, no matter where it came from. This thing, what they were trying to do, wasn’t just about them. It was about a whole new generation of witches and wizards who had to try not to be as broken as the last one. Albus and Hugo and O.K. and even Paul Wredding and Andreas Brant would be part of that. So it had to be bigger. Maybe it did belong to them, too.

It was still his and Brenna’s words that would get them started, though. And she didn’t seem to be sharing any at the moment.

He pulled her aside after Ancient Runes.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.”

Scorpius inclined his head towards an abandoned part of the corridor. He ducked around the corner, hoisting the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder.

“So, about this whole band thing…”

“What about it?” Brenna looked back down the corridor, avoiding his gaze. So there definitely was something going on. The knot slowly forming in Scorpius’s stomach said it was bigger than just a philosophical problem with their new bandmates.

“Do you…I mean…” Scorpius leaned sideways a little to try and get her to look him in the eye. It didn’t work. “Do you still want to do this?”

“I want to, Scor.” Brenna leaned her head back against the wall with a soft thump. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“What do you mean?” Brenna’s gaze was on the ceiling, but Scorpius could see a telltale shine from where he stood next to her, a small, sharp intake of breath through her nose. She was trying not to cry. There was only one kind of person who could make Brenna that unsteady. Another Yaxley.

“This is about your family,” Scorpius realized. Of course it had to be them. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it right away.

Brenna didn’t move.

“You have a lot of secrets from them, Brenna. For a good reason. How bad would their reaction be?”

“They can be very…unpredictable sometimes. I don’t know what they might do.” Brenna’s voice was shaky.

“What _could_ they do?” Scorpius asked, positive that he didn’t want want to know the answer.

Brenna tried to give a nonchalant shrug. “Make my life miserable this summer. Lock me in my room and feed me meals through a cat flap. They did that once. Refuse to pay for uni. Corporal punishment.”

“What the fuck?” Scorpius’s gut twisted sharply. He had no idea it could be that bad.

“Something worse, maybe…”

Scorpius ran a hand over his face. “Shit, Brenna…”

“I don’t want to be afraid of them. I’m so sick and tired of being afraid of them.” Brenna’s voice cracked on the end of the sentence. Scorpius reached a tentative hand out to brush hair away from her face.

“What if we made the lyrics not as…you know…obvious? Would that help?”

“They don’t even know I’m friends with Albus, Scorpius,” Brenna sighed. “They barely know I’m friends with _you_. I’ve kept it from them so carefully. It’s —“ She wiped angrily at a tear that slipped out of the corner of her eye. Scorpius couldn’t stand still any longer. He pulled Brenna into a tight hug, resting his head on her shoulder. She exhaled a hard breath against his tie. Brenna hated crying. Scorpius wished she didn’t have to. He also wished he knew what the hell to do about it, but he’d never conducted a political upheaval before.

“How about we go see someone with some experience?” he asked Brenna.

Brenna sniffed, lifting her forehead from Scorpius’s chest. “What do you mean?”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “Come on.”

 

 

 

It was lunchtime, so Harry Potter’s classroom was empty. Scorpius led Brenna up the stairs at the back of the room, following the sound of laughter to the open office door. Harry was seated on his desk, the cup of tea in his hands steaming lazily as he sipped it. He caught sight of Scorpius and Brenna, causing Professor Longbottom to turn around in his seat.

Scorpius loitered in the doorway. “We can come back if you’re busy.”

“Not at all,” Harry assured him. “Come on in! Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks,” Scorpius replied.

“All right, then. Have a seat.”

The two of them hesitated, as Professor Longbottom was still sitting in the second chair.

“Oi, Headmaster,” Harry said, aiming a light kick at his friend. “Let the children sit.”

Brenna and Scorpius shared a look. He _was_ Harry Potter, after all. Apparently, he was entitled to kick the headmaster. Neville smiled, vacating his seat and holding out a courteous arm to invite Brenna to sit. He leaned against the desk next to Harry. Scorpius saw a brief flicker in his grin of the boy in the photo in Harry and Ginny’s study.

“Have you come to complain about my son?” Harry asked.

“What?”

Harry smiled and placed down his tea. “Well, you look quite grave, and I rarely see you two without him, especially in my office.”

Neville snickered, producing a wink from Harry. Scorpius watched the easy push and pull between them, two people who had known each other for a long time. Neville subbed for Harry’s class sometimes — on days when the material concerned Harry himself, mostly. And Scorpius knew, mostly from Albus, how much it meant for Harry to trust someone with that class.

“No, sir.” Scorpius replied. “We’re not here to complain about Al. We’ve come for some advice, actually.” He glanced at the headmaster. “You can probably help as well.”

Neville raised an eyebrow, but Scorpius could see that he was beginning to understand that they weren’t just here to say hello. Harry had undergone a similar change. It was an ill-fitting look on both of their faces, a quiet sobering of expression native to people who have been trained to hear bad news from sustained exposure. Scorpius glanced at Brenna. It didn’t look like she wanted to be the first one to speak.

“So, er,” Scorpius began, “you know about the article from last week, Crichton’s policy and all that…”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I had been meaning to check up on the two of you about that. How are you doing?”

“Better than Des Carlyle, but not by much,” Brenna said curtly.

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Harry leveled a look at Brenna that was both comforting and calculating. It was the kind of look Scorpius thought must be a prerequisite for an advanced position at Hogwarts.

“We want to do something about it,” Scorpius said, “stage some kind of protest, but we’re worried…” He trailed off, looking to Brenna. Even if she didn’t want to say anything, this wasn’t about him. “Er, that is…”

“My family doesn’t exactly believe in the whole distancing-oneself-from-Death-Eater-ideology thing,” Brenna explained. “It’s kind of central to my personal philosophy though, and if they found out — which is, of course, kind of the point, for people to find out — it might be…bad.”

“What kind of bad?” Harry asked, concern digging lines into his face.

Brenna looked away.

“You two did some…political advocacy — of a kind,” Scorpius said, “when you were our age, and, well, you risked a lot for it.”

“We were in a _war_ ,” Neville said. The way his voice both couched and forced out the word reminded Scorpius just how much he and his friends really didn’t understand what it meant. No matter how many borrowed memories they saw, no matter how many stories they heard, they didn’t know what it tasted like.

“People were dying every day,” Neville continued. “That is, thankfully, not happening now. Which means you should definitely not have to take the same level of risk that we did. In fact, the whole point of the war was to make sure that you don’t.” There was a fire of conviction in his eyes that Scorpius had never seen before. And why shouldn’t there be? Neville was a huge part of the reason the war had ended the way it did. Everyone knew that.

“It’s not worth it for you to get hurt, Brenna,” Harry agreed. “If you think the consequences could be dangerous or really harmful to you, it’s not worth it at this point. I’d definitely hold off.”

“What kind of protest were you thinking of, anyway?” Neville wanted to know.

“We’re going to start a band,” Scorpius replied. For a horrible second, he knew it was stupid, a pitifully inadequate response, child’s play, embarrassing, even, but Neville’s face broke into a proud smile.

“Nice!”

“Al is part of this, I assume,” Harry said.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Harry smiled a knowing smile over his teacup. “He hinted. I knew you two were writing things. I think it’s a great idea!” Scorpius felt his face grow warm in flattered embarrassment, and then anger. What gave his face the right? He needed to get it together. Harry’s eyes missed nothing; he was famous for it. There was no way he hadn’t noticed. And Scorpius had long ago decided there was going to be nothing to see there. Merlin’s—

“Thank you, Professor,” Brenna cut in, “but that still doesn’t solve my problem.”

_Yes_ , Scorpius thought. _Back onto the topic at hand and away from my lack of self control. Excellent work, Bren._

“We can’t just hold off,” Brenna insisted. “This is happening _now_!”

“Of course,” Harry said firmly. “And people are working on it now. I know Hermione in particular has been slaving away at it since day one in office. She’s kept that crap out of the Education Department for a decade, and she’s redoubled her efforts now, for sure.” He paused, glancing at Neville. “Ron is invoking the S.P.E.W. days.” Neville chuckled. Clearly it was a joke Scorpius and Brenna were not supposed to understand.

“And we’re on it as well,” Harry said, turning back to Brenna. “It’s definitely not being ignored, I want you to know that. Your father’s job is safe, by the way,” he told Scorpius. “No one was going to let Crichton sack him.”

Harry sighed, looking back at Brenna. “Look, we’re playing a long game here. This is not going to disappear overnight. It’s a process. We’re still going to be fighting this in a few years, maybe even a few decades. What I mean to say is, your window of opportunity is not going to close if you don’t put yourself on the line right now. I promise.”

“Even if this were still wartime,” Neville added, “it’s certainly good strategy to give ground sometimes to win a larger battle. There’s no shame in saving your strength for when it can do the most good.”

Harry grinned suddenly. “For example, Neville was our secret weapon. We waited a long time to unleash him.”

This reference Scorpius actually understood. No matter how cagey the seventh years usually were about what they saw and learned in Harry’s class, the one thing they were never able to keep under wraps was an image of their mild-mannered headmaster and substitute teacher wielding a glistening sword against a giant evil snake. They had already covered the basilisk from Harry’s second year (people were very upset that only the important horcrux bit was featured and not the battle with the same sword and an even larger snake) but Scorpius and the rest of his class were still looking forward to it. Sometimes Neville was asked for reenactments. He apparently wasn’t offering one now. He shot a dirty look at Harry, but he was clearly giving up trying to fighting a smile, too.

“Shut it, you.”

“The point is,” Harry concluded, “your time will come.”

“Right.” Neville agreed. “Start out small. Establish your band, write some good stuff. Improve your skill, get noticed, build groundwork. Then you’ll have a goal and you’ll be working towards it, but in a way that’s not going to get anyone hurt. In a more practical sense for you, Brenna, maybe help write the lyrics for a while and just don’t appear onstage. Bide your time a little, at least till you’re established at uni and not under your parents’ roof anymore. That’s my advice.”

Harry nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Brenna copied the motion more slowly. She looked much more solid than she had in the hallway, but she was still frowning softly. It would not be easy for her to hold herself back while the others made the waves she wanted to be making. Neville seemed to understand the expression immediately.

“It know it’s frustrating to feel like you’re sitting on your ass, but you’re not.”

It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would certainly do for now. Scorpius wondered if anyone had ever given Harry or Neville similar advice. If they had, clearly the two men — boys then — hadn’t listened. Or perhaps they had, for as long as they could. If the stories Scorpius had heard were correct, everything had kicked into high gear after the last Triwizard Tournament. By then, it didn’t matter if they were ready or who would get hurt. They simply had to act. But there was no real danger for their children, not in the immediate sense of a demon rising from a graveyard to conquer the world. Where that had been a lightning strike, this danger — the thing they had to fight now — was like a slow, dispersed rain. You could deal with it if you had to — only those not protected by umbrellas would get wet at all — or ignore it completely. In the end, very few things remained untouched by it, but nothing was truly soaked. And therein lay the problem: as long as people could say that nothing was truly soaked, they could keep denying that the rain was falling at all; they could call it a drizzle, or a mist. They could say that those without umbrellas should have thought of that before they went outside. Maybe by the time Brenna could step onto the board, certain things, important things, would be wet enough to drip on the floor.

“Do you have a name for your band yet?” Harry asked.

“Not yet,” Brenna told him. “We’re working on it. Hugo and O.K. have just moved onto ridiculous ones at this point.”

“They didn’t make up “Tiger! Tiger! Shit! Tiger!”,” Scorpius reminded her. “That’s a real Muggle band.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed. “Really too bad that one’s taken.”

Scorpius shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was very proud to have made Harry laugh. “It had too much punctuation anyway.”

 

 

 

Three days later, Albus finally nailed it. In the middle of Charms, he scribbled something on a scrap of paper and slid it across the table to Scorpius. When he unfolded the note, Scorpius felt his face ease into a crooked grin. It was perfect. Almost felt inevitable.

The note held a line surrounded by quotation marks in Albus’s neat, slanted scrawl.

_“Good evening, London. We are Memory Charm.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hikoi is a Maori word that literally means stride or march. It's taken on protest connotations in recent decades. See? This site is educational!


	7. Sunday Rehearsal

“Good evening, London!” Scorpius crowed to the near-empty room. “We are Memory Charm! And we are ever so happy to see you all!”

Albus leaned over his microphone and breathed harshly into it, mimicking the roar of a crowd. He grinned cheekily at Scorpius.

O.K. let out a whoop from where he was setting up Hugo’s drum set.

They were waiting for Rose and Hugo in a social hall in Cambridge. Rose had convinced some college club to let them have it for a few hours so they could practice. They had been busy with the band since graduating Hogwarts, even given the fact that most of them were at different universities and buried deep in schoolwork that they couldn’t complete as a group anymore. They had been having some success with gigs, playing mostly covers along with a few of their own songs, simply trying to get a hang of the whole thing while they waited for Brenna to be able to fully participate and for someone major to notice. Meanwhile, Brenna still attended most of the rehearsals — after Rose, she was definitely the busiest over at the Wizarding legal program at LSE, which she attended despite several roadblocks put in her way — and wrote a large portion of the lyrics, sharing the mantle of manager with Rose and trying not to be too picky about the way that O.K. played bass guitar. She’d gotten them an interview with _Witch Weekly_ , which was a bittersweet victory considering she couldn’t participate in it. She’d even used Rose’s name to pitch the idea to the magazine. But she’d told them that they’d made her proud, and that was just going to have to be enough for now.

Scorpius sometimes felt guilty about the amount of fun he was having. He loved being onstage, loved pouring his soul into the lyrics and hearing Albus and the others bring them to life. He loved being at uni and joining a bigger world, even if he always came back to the same friends from Hogwarts. He loved the fact that all of this meant that his dreams didn’t seem as far away as they used to. Maybe soon they actually would play for thousands in London, and he would get to hear what that sounded like for real.

Scorpius returned Albus’s grin and faced his invisible audience. “Yes, my adoring fans, that’s right! Here before you tonight is the one, the only, the supreme, Albus Potter!” He drew the name out long, like he was announcing a wrestling champion instead of his best friend.

Albus gripped his guitar, tearing through an improvised solo that threatened to shake the rafters of the room. His fingers flew easily, artfully teasing out something that sounded like an exquisitely beautiful flying motorcycle crash.

“Look at that skill!” Albus commentated. He melted his improv into the beginning riff of one of their new songs. “The finesse! The dedication! Nothing can break his focus.”

 _Nothing can break his focus, huh?_ Scorpius thought. _Well, we’ll just have to see about that._

His thoughts were interrupted by Hugo and Rose, who burst in through the doors in a rush. They were a little overdressed for a weekend band rehearsal.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Rose said, dropping her bag onto a chair next to Brenna. “We know we’re late. Mum had to cut a ribbon somewhere. We’re here now.”

“That sounded sick, Al,” Hugo said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Are we all set to go?”

“Yeah,” Rose said. “Guess so.” She nudged Brenna with her hip. “What’s up with you?”

Brenna was in a funk, because some critic had seen their band the week before and had cast aspersions on their message. According to His Criticalness, as Brenna had taken to calling him, Memory Charm was failing to live up to its full potential. He went after Scorpius specifically — which Scorpius himself didn’t mind as much as Brenna did — saying that “a young Malfoy’s naive attempts at fame coupled with an unwillingness to adequately condemn the crimes of his relatives does not a revolution make”. Scorpius wasn’t going to lie, that had stung a little. Okay, it had stung a lot. But not as much as it had for Brenna, who considered their failure to put the old accusation in its place her fault. She was a little sulky right now because of it, but she and Scorpius gotten some very nice, angry lyrics out of it the night before. They just had to be patient about using them.

There had been an upside to the whole situation, however. They had a few fans, some of whom had come to their defense. And that particular opinion hadn’t been the widely accepted one anyway, among the few who deigned to have one about Memory Charm. Best of all, someone had written a letter to the editor regarding that review. Based on the letter’s vehement defense of Scorpius’s moral center, as well as a few very colorful and viciously eloquent insults that sounded suspiciously familiar, Scorpius was willing to bet that the anonymous author also had a wicked grin and a talent for imitating large crowds in a microphone.

He also got a funny swooping feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about that, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

Hugo clacked his drumsticks together, and they began to play. Scorpius let the music wash over him, breathing it out in the power of his own voice, amplified by the microphone in front of him. He loved this, how freeing and nerve-wracking it all was. It was the slightest hint of the feeling when he flew too fast, not enough to scare him but enough to remind him how alive he was.

They made it through the first couple of verses and choruses before Scorpius backed up from the mic to give Albus room for his solo. He never did this particular solo the exact same way twice, and it was only a matter of time before he closed his eyes reverently and let his fingers move on their own. Scorpius usually just watched in awe or jammed along, but now he waited for Albus to get lost in it.

Almost, almost…there. He snuck around to Albus’s other side and tapped Albus’s shoulder. Albus’s melody didn’t stutter, but he opened his eyes to narrow them at Scorpius. He dropped the tone and tempo of his notes, bringing the tune down from its fever pitch.

“Nothing can break his focus, huh?” Scorpius asked mildly.

“Oh, I see how this is.” Albus was fighting a smile. He drew a shrill, metallic riff out of the guitar, bringing it down again by tripping his fingers down a scale. He turned back forwards then, staring straight ahead.

So Scorpius poked a finger into his side. Albus yelped, and so did the guitar. Laughing, Albus turned on him, kicking Scorpius in the shin.

“Ow!” But he was laughing now too. Albus kicked out again, still playing, and Scorpius danced back a few steps, almost bumping into the drum set.

“You get back here, you little shit,” Albus demanded. Scorpius went over to where Brenna and Rose were sitting.

“You’re trapped by a wire there, mate,” he reminded the lead guitarist. The lead guitarist stuck out his tongue.

“Not if I end the solo,” Albus taunted. “Then you have to come back and sing.”

He was right. Scorpius had left his microphone in the stand.

“Foiled again,” Brenna giggled.

Now that Albus was confident in the fact that he held all the power, he began to grin wider, easing the melody towards the chorus, first slower, then faster, then slower again. Scorpius rushed back towards the mic to make it in time and Albus took a detour, back through another series of notes. Scorpius pressed his lips together, shaking his head at the monster he’d created.

“You’re a menace,” he called.

“And we only have two hours,” Rose reminded them.

Albus nodded and began the lead in to the chorus, and Scorpius went back to his spot, eyes narrowed distrustfully so that Albus knew he was very prepared for the foot that tried to trip him up on the way back. He dragged the mic stand over a few feet just in time for Hugo to signal the beginning of the chorus again.

He sang the first couple of lines, joy adding brightness onto the edges of his voice. He raised his eyebrows at Rose, who nodded back ruefully, acknowledging that they were back on track. He couldn’t resist looking back at Albus, though, to see if he was planning another attack. Albus smiled back, apparently innocent, and as he joined in for the harmony, jerked his head a tiny bit to the side. Over the last months, communicating things like that onstage had become second nature to all of them, so Scorpius only hesitated a second before pulling the mic out of the stand and striding over, still singing, to stand next to Albus.

He sang the next few lines with an elbow on Albus’s shoulder, dodging a stamp on his toes and flicking Albus in the ear in response. The melody never faltered. They sang that way for a bit, Albus accompanying the two of them. Eventually, the song had to come to an end, but Albus started up another one right away.

Scorpius danced away again, pointing ostentatiously at Rose and Brenna on every second person pronoun. He walked over to O.K., then Hugo, singing along to the familiar words and bobbing his head in time to the beat. Finally, he ended up back by Albus, where he dropped his head onto his shoulder. Albus shifted, turning sideways to keep his mouth near the microphone, and Scorpius moved with him, leaning backward till they were pressed back to back, Scorpius’s hair just brushing Albus’s ear. He let his head be heavy against Albus’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body through his t-shirt. He could feel the vibrations when Albus sang, too.

And then Albus’s elbow in the small of his back. He choked on a lyric and spun away, turning back to fix Albus with a glare, but he was looking towards the door, his expression wary.

A figure had appeared in the doorway. Cardigan, black hair, faded jeans. Albus’s possibly-still-boyfriend John leaned against the doorframe in what he probably thought was an appealing manner. Albus and John had hooked up a few months into university at some point when Scorpius wasn’t paying attention, and suddenly John began appearing in places where generally only Albus was expected. Scorpius had been dating around some, too, but nobody had really stuck. At least, not like John had stuck.

Scorpius did not like John. It wasn’t that he seemed malicious or like he meant any harm towards Albus or was only dating him for his fame or anything like that. He was just kind of annoying. Like his presence never added anything to a room. Scorpius had tried to get to know John, for Albus’s sake, but it just seemed like dealing with him should be unnecessary on a general level. Gratuitous, Hugo had supplied, though he hadn’t said whether this was his own opinion or he was just describing Scorpius’s opinion. Scorpius had no idea how Albus had full conversations with John, though he insisted they took place, on the very few times Scorpius had been asked what he thought about him. Even his name was dull. Scorpius very highly doubted that John had ever had an existential crisis about his name.

And now, approaching final exams, it seemed that Albus might not be such a fan of John anymore either. He hadn’t spoken about him in a while, and Scorpius hadn’t personally seen him in weeks. Rose said last week that they were on their way out, and right at this moment, Albus didn’t seem overly pleased to see him. All signs were certainly pointing to, at the very least, a rough patch. Scorpius would never admit this to Albus, but he truly hoped they would break up. If he had to see John at holidays and the odd family party for the rest of his and Albus’s friendship — which was going to last at least until one of them died — he might actually start voluntarily attending events thrown by his grandparents. And that would be miserable for everyone involved.

John waved at Albus, who waited just a second too long before waving back, just enough time to know that he considered not doing it. Scorpius was officially intrigued, and by the looks of it, so was the rest of the band.

Albus started the intro to the next song on the set list. Clearly, they were not stopping the rehearsal just because John had walked in. Scorpius wracked his brain for what boring, unassuming John had done to Albus to make him so angry. He wondered if he was expected to be angry on Albus’s behalf. Best friends were supposed to do that, right?

He nearly missed his cue, and then decided the best course of action would be to ignore John completely and focus on the music. That, and to purposely flub a word every once in a while. It took a few tries for Albus to actually notice, intent as he was on his bad mood, but eventually, his smile was back — small and partially hidden, but still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck John.
> 
> Tune in next week for some more sexual tension and a chapter entirely devoted to Brenna being a fucking queen!


	8. The Club

The club was not in the part of the city Scorpius was intimately familiar with. At least, he thought so. But he was pretty buzzed, and not inclined to pay a lot of attention to where they were going. Good thing it wasn’t his responsibility anyway. O.K. was the only one of them who had been to the club before, making him de facto leader and direction-botcher. Scorpius didn’t much care how soon they got there, though. The lights around them were pleasantly fuzzy in the fog of London, far away and ethereal, like they could be will o’ wisps. Or something. Scorpius had never seen a will o’ wisp. Could you make a comparison to something you’d never seen? The colors of the lampposts spilled like molten copper into the puddles on the street, fractured into splinters on the curb every once in a while by the occasional passing car. The air was cool with the first true breath of October and the wind ruffled Scorpius’s hair off his forehead like a caress. He was in no rush to get anywhere.

He grabbed onto a lamppost with one hand, using the momentum of his own weight to swing himself around it, reveling in the _whoosh_ of air and the sudden force of gravity. It was a childish thing to do, but it felt nice. Plus, he’d done well on a pop quiz last week and the band almost had a full set now. He’d written two more songs with Albus in the last two weeks alone, since the permanent departure of John, which had dragged on for what seemed like several years. It was a beautiful night. Everyone was drama free. Scorpius was feeling content and very alive, and nearly knocked into Albus as he careened around the pole.

Albus laughed as he put out his hands to arrest Scorpius’s motion. “You sober enough to successfully get into this club?”

Scorpius let go of the lamppost, unconsciously chasing the warmth of Albus’s hands. They must have been stuffed in his pockets. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured him. “I can walk in a straight line and everything. I’m simply choosing not to at the moment.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Albus observed. A smile was working its way up the corner of his lips, making his eyes sparkle animatedly in the dark.

Scorpius slung an arm across Albus’s shoulders and pressed a kiss onto his cheek, hard enough that it made the two of them stumble half a step to the right. “Yep. It’s a good night.”

Albus rolled his eyes at this, but his smile was spreading wider. Scorpius briefly considered the fact that kissing Albus out in the middle of the street with no warning might have been a decision he wouldn’t have made sober, before deciding not to let it ruin his mood. He was an affectionate drunk and had no reason to reign that in if Albus was fine with it. He looked resentfully pleased, actually, and the sudden prickling feeling in Scorpius’s stomach probably had to with alcohol — and not that smile — anyway.

“Get a room!” Hugo called from ahead of them.

Albus and Scorpius raised middle fingers in unison, looked at each other, and burst out laughing, leaning on each other as they followed their friends down the sidewalk.

It was definitely a good night.

They arrived at their destination midway through a debate about who had fucked up the potion in fourth year that had them cleaning gunk out of their ears for a week. (If the end of the argument could be considered an arrival at the truth, it was Albus.) The club entrance was hidden in a side alley that Scorpius was vaguely certain they had passed at least twice before entering it. O.K. went through the entrance first, sweeping aside the concealment spell with a wave of his wand and failing to hold it open for Hugo, who nearly smacked into a re-solidifed wall. By the time Scorpius and Albus made it through, Hugo and O.K. were talking with the bouncer, who seemed distinctly less than amused. Scorpius slid his hand off Albus’s shoulders and came up beside Brenna and Rose.

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re trying to get in without having to pay the cover, I think,” Brenna replied. She shared a look with Rose, and the two of them linked arms to advance on the door. The bouncer took one look at them and opened the velvet rope, closing it firmly behind them when O.K. and Hugo tried to follow. Brenna and Rose wiggled their fingers at them teasingly before disappearing inside.

“What the fuck, mate?” Hugo cried. “Bloody traitors! My own sister,” he grumbled.

Scorpius looked at Albus, who he found looking back. There was a surefire way to get them into the club free of charge, of course, one Albus didn’t like to use. Normally, once Hugo and O.K. finished debasing themselves in front of a bouncer, the four of them would either suck it up and pay or go find another bar. They knew better than to ask Albus to press his advantage. From the look on Albus’s face now though, he was considering his options.

“We can just pay the cover,” Scorpius offered.

Albus bit the inside of his cheek. “No,” he said. “We’ve got to meet Molly inside and I’m skint at the moment.”

Scorpius knew for a fact Albus was not skint, but the same couldn’t necessarily be said for O.K. There was a good chance that if Albus told the bouncer who he was, there would be reporters outside by the time they left, but Albus had evidently decided that was worth it for now. Scorpius watched as he squared his shoulders a little and strode forwards to stand between Hugo and O.K. Scorpius hung back a little, which allowed him to note the aesthetically pleasing way Albus’s jeans fit him. As soon as the thought hit him, he shook his head to clear it. _That’s it, Malfoy. No more alcohol for you_. It wasn’t that he didn’t know that Albus was nice to look at. It was objectively true. But he wasn’t supposed to be ogling his best friend in an alley, now, was he?

It took about three seconds for the bouncer to recognize Albus and pronounce all of them fit to proceed. Hugo and O.K. puffed up their chests a little as they walked through the door, but Albus just muttered a small “thank you” and glanced back over his shoulder at Scorpius to make sure he was following. The light from the glowing sign above Albus’s head proclaiming the establishment Clock Strikes Twelve reflected neon pink off his glasses, his cheekbones, and the tip of his nose. Scorpius felt the pulse of the bass from inside contract his heart in time to its beat.

The doorway swallowed them up and deposited them inside the noise and heat of the club. The patrons looked young and fashionable, and most of them were wearing Muggle clothing, a general sign that there were very few old-timers among them. Scorpius could see why Molly had chosen this place.

“Do you see them?” O.K. shouted in his ear over the music.

Scorpius scanned the crowd dancing in the center of the room, then the tables on the raised platform surrounding the floor. He caught sight of Brenna and Rose sitting with Molly and a few others Scorpius didn’t know. He tapped O.K.’s shoulder and pointed.

Molly hopped up as soon as she saw them and bounded down the few stairs to wrap an arm around Scorpius’s neck. Scorpius returned the hug enthusiastically, and felt Molly laugh as he pulled her close. Never in his life could he actually pick a favorite Weasley descendant (aside from Albus, who was definitely an exception even for whatever tyrant would make him choose), but Molly was certainly on the short list.

“Glad you could make it!” she shouted in his ear.

“Brenna and Rose abandoned us outside! How are you?”

Molly flashed him a brilliant smile. “Wonderful!” She raised the glass in her other hand and tipped it a little. “I’m empty though. Come with me to get another and I’ll tell you all about it. Let me just say hi to Al first.”

She pulled away, giving Scorpius the chance to send a mocking salute towards Brenna and Rose. Brenna raised her eyebrows and rubbed the tips of her fingers together in front of her face. Scorpius pointed at Albus in response. Brenna nodded knowingly, taking a sip of her drink. Scorpius knew she was probably doing the mental calculations necessary to anticipate a quick and painless escape from this club if needed. Not that she would give a shit about decking a paparazzo and marching out the front door, but that wasn’t exactly a style the rest of the group shared.

Molly tapped Scorpius’s arm and pointed across the floor to the bar. She leaned over it on her elbows when they reached it, red hair brushing the countertop as she craned her neck around to look for the bartender. Scorpius watched the dancing crowd for a bit. The spelled lights and disco ball threw everyone into convoluted shadows. If he got much drunker than this, that might become confusing. He had just let his eyes wander to where Albus was propped against a railing when he realized Molly was saying his name.

“What?”

“What do you want, Major Tom?”

Scorpius didn’t know what she was referring to, but he figured it was affectionate and teasing at once. Molly’s face seemed to say so. She gave him that look a lot, less than he probably deserved but more than he might have liked.

“Sorry,” he said. “Whatever you’re having, I guess.”

Molly gave a quick nod and held up two fingers to the bartender, who waved his wand at the bottles lined up against the wall. Scorpius watched his and Molly’s drinks assemble themselves, and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“No, no, I got it,” Molly said, holding out a hand to stop him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Molly grinned. “It’s a special occasion!”

Their drinks floated over and deposited themselves on the counter with a click Scorpius couldn’t hear. “And what occasion is that?”

Molly turned to face him fully. “I have a plan for my future.”

“Ah.” Scorpius took a sip of his drink and arched a brow over the rim at Molly. “Dragon wrangler, right?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Close. I’m going to apply for the Columbia program.”

“Wait, the one in New York with the exchange thing and the Muggle Studies?”

Molly nodded, chuckling. “Pretty much. I get a flat and a phone and a Metrocard and I get to use Uber and everything!”

Scorpius snorted. “Molls, I only know what about half of those things are.”

He had heard about the program, though. Everyone in Albus’s family suspected Molly was going to apply, and her Grandpa Arthur was especially over the moon about it. As Muggle-Wizard relations became more complex, there was a high demand for people fluent in both worlds who were willing to work at it full time. Molly was a Muggle Studies major currently (hence the knowledge of phrases like “Major Tom”), but Scorpius was not in the least surprised that she wanted to get an advanced degree in it, or that she wanted to go full native to do it. According to James, Molly had gone a whole year once as a small child refusing to have anything to do with magic. She said she’d wanted to see what being a Muggle was like. She’d even refused to eat any food made at wandpoint. Now it appeared she’d get to do it for real. From what he’d been told, the program was essentially just going to Muggle university, blending in and living life away from the Wizarding World. Scorpius couldn’t see the draw himself, but Molly looked ecstatic.

“Well, I’ll teach you everything you’ve got to know for when you come visit,” Molly assured him.

“You’re there for, what, two years?”

Molly nodded.

“When do you leave?”

“Not this coming summer, but the one after that.” Molly made two little hops with her finger to indicate the passing time. “Application’s not due for a while yet but I’ve just decided that that’s the plan, so…yeah!”

Scorpius lifted his drink off the counter and tilted it at her. “To your new adventure!”

Molly raised her glass and grinned at Scorpius around the rim as she sipped it. Scorpius felt the drink burn the back of his throat pleasantly, warming his insides.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve got to go tell the others.”

“Am I the first person you told?” he asked.

Molly shrugged. “Besides the family, yeah!”

“Well, I’m honored.” He stretched out his arm, making a path for her to walk in front of him. He was truly very happy for her, but two years was a long time, and he didn’t know how often she’d get to be home. He didn’t see her enough as it was. But he hardly had the right to demand her time. There were about twelve Weasleys at least who came in line before he did.

It was after midnight by the time they got around to leaving. They toasted Molly’s new plans and everyone’s midterm exams and then a few more times just for fun. Everyone got dragged out to the dance floor eventually, though some people, mainly Rose, dug their heels in a little at first. Scorpius let his eyes flutter closed on the dance floor, seeing the glow of the lights behind his eyelids and occasionally being jostled by other people. Eventually, he ended up dancing with (and possibly snogging, though he wasn’t 100% sure about it the next day) a handsome stranger with good rhythm and only moderately wandering hands, and he forgot to ask his name. He was going to, or at least he intended to —good manners and all that — but he caught sight of Albus trying to extricate himself from a conversation at the bar and had gone to go help with that. It had been two first years from Albus’s university who were flipping their fake blonde hair all over the place and had definitely realized that Albus was famous. Scorpius pulled him away before he could give the two young women any true ammunition for future party anecdotes, though he could bet they would invent some anyway.

Finally, the group made its way towards the door, but was stopped short by Rose, who had stuck her head outside first and then ducked quickly back in.

“Press,” she said.

Albus grit his teeth and Scorpius and Brenna groaned.

“A lot?” Albus asked.

“Like four or five from what I saw,” Rose told him. “But I only got a peek.”

“Anyone got an idea?” Brenna asked.

“Why didn’t you ask me for an idea when I was sober?” Scorpius said to no one in particular. Albus slid a comforting hand over his shoulder. It might also have also been to tell him to shut up.

“Fear not, friends and fam,” Hugo declared. “I got this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cylindrical shape, holding it out on his palm.

“Please tell me that’s not a dildo,” Rose told him.

“No.” Hugo rolled his eyes. “It’s a Weasley Wizard Wheezes firework, of course.”

“Excellent!” O.K. beamed. He pulled his wand out and turned so his body would block the view from the rest of the club. With a muttered word, he lit the fuse. He saluted at Hugo, who sent it sailing out the front door.

A few seconds passed while they waited, and then the first crack of a small explosion reached their ears.

“Go!” Rose cried.

The seven of them rushed out the door at once amid the brightly colored glow of the firework, which had split into several streams of sparks and had caused chaos in the alleyway. Scorpius laughed and dodged a portly reporter who had leapt up with a yelp, clutching at his rear where the firework had pricked him. From what Scorpius could tell, this firework was the latest model, which split to attack all available bottoms instead of just stopping at one or three. It meant that they couldn’t hang around for long, since the longer they lingered, the more available all their arses became.

A polished-looking witch further from the door emitted a truly impressive screech, knocking into the camera of the wizard next to her, eyes bugged out to a hilarious degree. Scorpius ran past, clutching Albus’s arm for balance, at risk of falling as much from his state of intoxication as from laughing so hard.

They caught up with the others on the other side of the barrier, all of them gasping and laughing and wiping tears from their eyes. Scorpius held up a hand to high-five Hugo, who accepted it and took a bow.

“Score for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he said proudly.

“Come on,” Albus said, throwing an arm over Scorpius’s shoulders. Scorpius leaned into his side. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody draws me art of Albus lit up by a neon sign, I will name my firstborn child after them!  
> Also, yes, Scorpius is a fucking moron. The management is aware and it’s being addressed. Pretty soon we will be able to stop smacking our foreheads every time he cockblocks himself.


	9. Brenna's Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horns by Bryce Fox. Trust me.

Brenna Yaxley prided herself on being a good spy. Scorpius often said she should go into it professionally if she wasn’t so interested in defending the rights of werewolves in Wizarding court. Or maybe he only said that because he was easy to sneak up on. When he was staring at Albus across a room and pretending he wasn’t — often enough to be considered frequent — it was especially gratifying to surprise him. It wasn’t so much that Brenna liked going undetected; in fact, she spent lot of time in life neglecting to make herself invisible. It was more that she could observe things without people knowing she was observing them.

It was an especially useful skill in a house such as her parents’, with its constant stream of relatives and acquaintances and a certain breed of social climber coming and going, in and out of prison and skulking in corners and thinking generally uninspired thoughts at Brenna in particular. Observing in the Yaxley household was crucial to navigating it, as no one ever truly said what they meant.

Take her mother’s last letter, for example. “The party went over quite well, although we had hoped your uncle might be able to be there.” — _He didn’t make parole. Again._ — “We understand you had a lot of schoolwork, and don’t begrudge you not being there.” — _We didn’t invite you because your great-great-aunt suspects you report her habits to Minerva McGonagall_. — “Maybe next time if you’re not as busy, you can join us. Perhaps bring one of your school friends.” — _If you bring a Weasley to our house, I’m not responsible for what happens to them._

Brenna had learned to observe from a very young age. Her mother would probably be shocked to learn that in some places in the world — Hogwarts, uni, Twelve Grimmauld Place — she actually said exactly what she was thinking. Her politics were not the only thing that made her a rebel.

Yaxley Manor was the only place, in fact, where she never wanted to be truly seen, and it was easy to not be seen when no one was really very interested in seeing you, anyway. Brenna had long since taken to thinking of this as an advantage rather than an impediment to her becoming a supremely well-adjusted adult.It was due to this careful balance of not-seeing that even though Brenna would definitely be considered a rebellious child by her parents, her mother and father and most of her relatives possessed little to no evidence that she actually _was_.

All that was about to change today. Because Brenna the Observer had Observed something the night before that had the power to definitively, _finally_ , hurl her life into motion.

Playing a long game, Professor Potter had said. Long, indeed.Three years, in fact. Brenna sat up a little straighter in her dorm room desk chair and read the university billing statement in her hands once more. Small, neat characters declared her tuition paid in full. If she chose, she could step onto the board today.

And she definitely fucking would.

She drank a cup of tea and dressed slowly, did her makeup leisurely, erasing the wings of her eyeliner and doing them over again when they weren’t perfect the first time. Morning routines calmed her, built up her confidence layer by layer. She briefly considered trying to tame her hair, before discarding the idea. Today was about being seen for her, and curls with a mind of their own would be part of that.

And so would the black clothes and the leather, apparently. O.K. had once joked that if Brenna hated Death Eaters so much, she shouldn’t dress like one. But she liked how it made her feel and she certainly liked the fact that she could probably cause serious injury with the sharp end of one of her shoes. They were perfect for tearing a hole through her facade.

She paused over a note to Scorpius, settling on “Today’s the day. Tell the band to make room onstage for me.” He would know what she meant. After seeing the note safely secured in the grip of an owl in the floor owlery (just off the shared kitchen), she cast an anti-tripping charm on her heels, stuffed the bill in her pocket for luck, and left the dorm.

 

 

 

Diagon Alley was typically crowded for a weekday. A wind probably slightly too cold for April weaved in and out of witches and wizards as they ran errands, socialized, browsed, and generally knew nothing about how momentous the day was. Brenna paused at the Leaky Cauldron entryway before stepping through and took a breath, deep in through her nose and out through her mouth. Up ahead in the distance, the sunlight glinted off the windows of Gringott’s, making it almost too bright to look at.

She imagined the glare came from stage lights, high-intensity beacons at the beck and call of Rose Granger-Weasley, lighting her way from the wings. She imagined the heaviness of a guitar in her hands, hung low in front of her hips and reflecting across the faces of a crowd. She imagined Scorpius’s pre-song grin from a different angle, the joyful glint in Albus’s eye, Hugo’s restless shifting, O.K.’s crooked smile. Her goal was finally in sight, and she would reach it no matter what.

As she strode down the street, mentally thanking Darianelle Mulciber for the effectiveness of the anti-tripping charm when faced with cobblestones, she realized she was, more or less, walking in a straight line. Although her fellow Alley patrons were milling about as usual and seemed to be paying little attention to anything other than their own concerns, they were all — some quite intentionally — moving out of her way. Brenna smiled to herself. O.K. could joke all he wanted. She had never felt so powerful in her life.

The doors of the wizard bank closed behind her with a deep groan, sealing out the noise of the street. She slowed her pace as she let her feet take her past desk after desk of busy goblins, reveling in the noise of her footfalls on the marble floor. Each echoing clack thrummed through her chest as she approached the far, tall desk.

The branch manager looked at her over the top of his spectacles.

“I want to withdraw my money from my family vault,” Brenna said.

The manager grunted and removed a slip of paper from a pile on his desk. “Wand.”

Brenna placed it on the desk and waited for the manager to authenticate it. The inherent, irrational nerves of those with recently gained rights desperately wanted to fidget, but Brenna steeled herself and stayed still, refusing to look away. After a few moments, the manager returned her wand and poised his quill above the paper.

“Will this be a cash withdrawal.” The manager didn’t seem to believe in question marks.

“No.” Brenna was not asking questions today.

“Will you be moving the money to another vault.”

“Yes.”

The quill scritched as the manager ticked boxes.

“And how much money do you wish to withdraw.”

Brenna lifted her chin and allowed a hint of her impending victory show on her face.

“All of it.”

 

 

 

The horizon was on fire by the time Brenna made it to the Yaxley house. She had wanted to fly there. When she’d woken up that morning, she had wanted this all over and done with as soon as possible, but there was something about using up the whole day that appealed to her. Besides, she had wanted to make sure her papers were all in order and see her new personal vault for herself. Now, several hours later and millions of galleons richer, she wheeled around the house to the southwest corner. The ivy on the wall of the mansion was as thick as ever, and she leaned down to peel off her shoes and socks to make climbing easier.

It was easier than one might expect, breaking into one’s own room.

It seemed like it had been a very long time since Brenna had lived there. There was no dust on anything, of course — what were house elves for, if not that? — but nothing had been moved. It was like stepping into her own past. The sunset cast an orange haze over everything, burning thick lines into the floorboards and onto the walls.

She had visited for holidays, of course, but she hadn’t been anything other than a visitor in this room or this house in nearly a decade. She wondered absently if any other former Hogwarts students felt that way. It was possible, she supposed.

There weren’t many things she needed here. A few mementos, maybe, some jewelry she had felt too insecure to take to school. A veritable library of Muggle music hidden in the floorboards with layer upon layer of juvenile protection charms. Back at school, she had other ways of listening, but the others would get a kick out of actual records.

Anything that spoke of herself went into the bag on her shoulder. A stuffed hippogriff was the last thing to go. By the time she was finished, the room could have been anyone’s. But just as she thought that, Brenna cocked her head, appraising the wall in front of her. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she began to trace burning letters into the air, each one a foot high at least. Her cousin had taught her the trick she-didn’t-know-how-many years ago. Her message complete, Brenna shoved the letters at the wall, where they seared themselves into the wallpaper and sent some of it curling back singed in places.

There. Not just anyone’s room.

She summoned her shoes from below. One impaled itself in the wall in the center of the “o” in “MEMORY CHARM”. Brenna grinned to herself and surveyed her work.

Time to go.

She reached the second landing of the grand staircase just as her father stepped through the entranceway. His gaze shot past her mother in surprise and came to rest on Brenna. Without his moving a muscle, she could tell the bank had notified him. She could also tell that there might be a very small window in which she could get out of the house unscathed.

So she began to walk down the stairs, eyes fixed on the point outside the door where she could see the gold medallion of the family crest enshrined above the main gate. The stairs were thickly carpeted; her steps made no sound. She was suddenly acutely afraid. And then very angry for being so afraid. In a moment of will she didn’t quite think herself capable of, she made eye contact with her parents and held it.

Neither of them moved a muscle. It was like they’d been petrified. Mr. and Mrs. Yaxley gaped at their youngest child, watching her as if she were a total stranger who had audaciously robbed them from under their very noses.

In a way, Brenna thought, that’s exactly what she was.

The sound of her steps returned when she reached the hallway, and Brenna returned her gaze to the smooth stones of the driveway. Why did purebloods have driveways anyway if no one ever drove on them? Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she breezed past the figures in the doorway. When the cool night air hit her, she realized she’d been sweating. She kept walking.

Why weren’t they stopping her? Why weren’t they doing _anything_? She refused to look back and refused to walk any faster.

But at the front gate, she was forced to stop. The metal bars were shut tight, and didn’t part for her like they usually did. Her stomach twisted in fear as she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see her parents striding towards her, wands raised, ready to turn her to dust for what she’d done.

But there was no one. The front door of the house was closed, though there were several figures visible in front windows. They were simply waiting to see what she’d do, like stupid Muggle children pressing their faces against glass cases in the zoo.

Fuck them. Brenna gripped her wand hard. Fuck them all.

She faced the gate.

“ _Alohomora_.” The gate groaned, and stayed shut. She tried again, louder this time. She could practically hear her cousins laughing behind her.

Fuck all this shit. They were not taking this away from her. She had already won.

She took a step back, squaring her body and aiming her wand at the metal.

“ _Bombarda_!”

A rush of power surged up from within her and shattered onto the gate. The clang of broken lock parts split the night. The metal curved suddenly away from the center, creating a hole. Brenna walked slowly and deliberately towards the gate. One final push and the gate burst open, sending the metal bars screeching away from each other.

She had wanted an audience. And now she had one.

With a final flick of her wrist, the crest on top of the gate burst into flames.

And Brenna Yaxley walked underneath it into the growing dark, leaving everything except herself behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: things go kaboom. Or rather, *more* things go kaboom.


	10. Memory Charm Invents a Magical Medium

The River Cam sparkled light onto the boathouses along it, carrying the voices of Cambridge students enjoying the sun on the air. Scorpius looked away from the fluffy clouds above him to gaze down the line of them sitting on the edge of the dock in front of Rose’s college boathouse, feet in the water despite the risk of a passing oar costing them their kneecaps.

Rose, Hugo, O.K., Brenna, Albus, and himself. Memory Charm, in its entirety, present and completely ready for action for the first time ever. The energy of it crackled between them. The world was their oyster. They could make a real move now, without holding anything back. All they had to do was decide what form it would take.

“So first things first, Brenna’s back on bass now,” Scorpius said. He turned to Brenna for confirmation and she nodded. “So, O.K., you can play whatever the fuck instruments you want.”

O.K. punched a fist into the air.

“And I still get to bang on stuff,” Hugo declared. He and O.K. touched fists.

“Yes,” Brenna said. “Twelve crazy beats at once, just like you like.”

“Hey, Al.” Scorpius leaned towards Albus. “We can have three part harmony now…” Albus grinned. Scorpius could see him considering the possibilities already.

“This all sounds great to me…” Rose said. She leaned forward over the water to look at them. “But what are we going to do with all that? What do we do to blow all this bullshit out of the water, huh?”

It was O.K. who suggested a music video.

“Think about it,” he said. “We can have words and music and whatever symbolism bullshit we want to have. Three kinds of messages at the same time!”

Brenna nodded. “It would certainly make a splash if we did it right.”

“We could film it somewhere badass,” Hugo suggested.

“Maybe smash some things?” Scorpius offered. “That’s always fun and emphatic.”

“Should we write a new song?” Albus wanted to know. “Or use one we already have?”

“What should we smash and where should we smash it?” Brenna leaned back on her hands.

“Let the bludgeoning begin!” Hugo cried, kicking spray into the air and making several heads turn at the next boathouse over.

Rose raised a hand timidly. “While I hate to slow your momentum here,” she said. “I need to remind everyone that we don’t know how to make a music video.”

“What do you mean?” O.K. asked. “You just take a regular old camera or a phone and point it and—oh…”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So what do we do if there’s no way to make a magical video?” Brenna asked.

Rose gave a determined little sigh.

“We do what any good wizard does,” she said. “We invent one.”

 

 

 

 

It took them months to get the magic right. Wizard photographs themselves were not very difficult to come by, but they didn’t have the proper parameters to hold something that could possibly be construed as a music video. Photographs simply weren’t going to cut it.

So Rose studied Micky Mouse and anime.The principle of the thing should be the same, she explained to Scorpius in between bites of supper one night in late June. Stick enough pictures together and cycle them through fast enough and you should have continuous motion. For days straight she scribbled on pages in the main parlor of Twelve Grimmauld Place while O.K. tinkered with camera prototypes, hopped up on energy spells till they couldn’t cast them anymore. The first official attempt had simply been a camera capable of taking photos at a speed faster than the eye could see. It produced nearly a meter of stacked photos which Rose spelled to flip through themselves at the proper speed to show O.K. doing a cartwheel in the corridor. Of course, that had led to a thousand nearly-identical photographs strewn all over Albus’s room, plus assorted paper cuts, and no way to make the process repeat itself.

“What if you shrunk them?” Brenna asked, picking a particularly good upside-down shot out of an open drawer. Albus shut the drawer quickly with his foot when he saw it was the one that contained his underwear.

“Then we’d just have a half-meter stack of photos and the same problem, though. Right?” Hugo examined one of his fingers where a droplet of blood had appeared. “We’d still be flayed alive by a billion photos of O.K.”

O.K. grinned. “But what a wonderful way to go, am I right?” Hugo threw a pillow at him.

“Can you not get blood on my pillows?”

“What if we compress them?” Scorpius asked. “Make them really flat?”

O.K. nodded, taking the errant pillow and placing it behind his head. “We could keep repeating the spell till it’s thin enough.”

Rose picked up one of the photos closest to her and tossed it into the air to watch it spin. “I tried that.”

“Didn’t work?” Albus guessed. Rose made a dubious motion with one of her hands.

“Did you make up a new spell or did you modify an old one?” Scorpius asked.

“New one, why?”

Scorpius let out a breathy chuckle. “Because it’s so much more work to do that, and that’s such a Rose thing to do.”

Rose bristled a little. “What do you mean by that?”

“I _mean_ ,” Scorpius said, “that you’re allergic to shortcuts.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We’d still have the tornado problem, too,” Brenna mused.

There was silence in the room aside from the shuffling of photo papers being gathered into smaller stacks, but Scorpius could practically hear the wheels turning in everyone’s heads. They were on the right track, that much was certain. But how close they were to their goal wasn’t as easy to figure.

 

 

 

 

“I’ve got it!”

Scorpius raised droopy eyelids from the textbook. He was pushing around the eggs on his plate with one hand while keeping the page open with the other. Albus was leaning over the table. His glasses were perched a little crookedly on his nose, he had deep shadows under his eyes, and he had a smile on his face that he definitely inherited from his Weasley side. Scorpius felt one side of his own mouth lift automatically in response. For the space of a heartbeat, Albus looked like he forgot what he was going to say.

“You’ve got what?” Scorpius prompted.

“Oh.” Albus skirted the table and took hold of Scorpius’s elbow. “Come on.”

“I’m eating.” Albus tugged. “And I’m revising,” Scorpius added.

“It’s worth it, I promise. Come _on_.” Punctuated by another tug.

Scorpius chuckled. “You’re like a small child.”

He let himself be pulled into the corridor. He had been sitting at the kitchen table with that same textbook for most of the weekend; he had a big exam on Monday for his summer course, and study time was harder to come by these days with all the gigs they were trying to cram in between other things. Rose and Brenna’s new favorite hobby was cajoling and bullying pub owners and concert venue executives, and as they filled them night after night, it had gotten easier to convince them. They had had a few interviews with minor wizarding news outlets as well. Nothing really major, but still progress. The ball was rolling.

Albus, unlike Scorpius, had no academic commitments at the moment, which apparently meant he could afford to spend all of the previous night into that morning perfecting his big reveal. He had been riding high along with the rest of them on their newfound success, a spark in his eye and spring in his step that they could all see, Scorpius included.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Albus hauled Scorpius suddenly backwards before he could go too far down the hall. “Stop.” Scorpius waited patiently as Albus manhandled him into what seemed to be the proper angle.

“Are we all right now?” Scorpius asked. He tried to make it sound annoyed, but it came out as amused as he felt. He loved seeing Albus excited.

“Yes.” Albus squeezed his shoulder encouragingly and pointed past him towards the wall. “See that?”

Scorpius did. He also suppressed a shiver from the way Albus’s words puffed against the shell of his ear. “That’s a mirror.”

Albus laughed. “Yep. Now walk past it.”

“Is this a trick? Am I going to get slime up my nose or boils somewhere I don’t want them?”

“Is there anywhere you’d _like_ to have boils?”

“That is not the point.”

“Just walk.”

“Fine.”

Scorpius squared his shoulders and turned around so he could look Albus in the face as he walked backwards. For a few seconds as he put one foot behind the other, nothing happened. He took another step, and still nothing. On the third step, just as he began to see his own reflection in his peripheral vision, the mirror burst into song.

Scorpius jumped, spinning to face the glass fully. His reflection seemed normal, but he could have sworn that was his own voice coming from the mirror. He shot a look back at Albus, who was smiling even wider now.

“Is that…?”

“The song we recorded last week? Yes, it is.”

Scorpius looked back at the mirror. “A singing mirror, huh? It’s brilliant!”

Albus punched his shoulder. “That’s not the point, you numpty. It starts to play the song when you walk by it.”

“Oh.” Scorpius looked up at the frame, trying to determine where the sound came from. Then it hit him. “Oh! It starts to play when you walk by it! So we can use it for the video!”

Albus rolled his eyes. “How we ever keep up with your intellectual prowess amazes me.”

“Oh, shut it. How’d you do it?”

“Fucked around with a locator spell a bunch.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it was that simple. You and your relatives are too fucking smart. Did you spend all night on this?”

“Pretty much.” Albus palmed the back of his neck. “I was on a roll. I wrote another song too. Well, some of one.”

“You’re a machine, mate!” The mirror was nearing the end of the song, and Scorpius threw an arm across Albus’s shoulders, pulling him closer into a rough, one-armed hug. “We’d better tell the others, haven’t we?”

“I wrote out the note upstairs,” Albus said. “Didn’t want to send it till I’d shown it to you though.”

Pride swelled deep in Scorpius’s chest. “Well, it’s genius.”

“Thanks.”

The two of them stayed silent, grinning at each other in the mirror till the song came to an end.

 

 

 

 

By August, they had done it. Rose and O.K. had a camera the size of a German Shepherd that sometimes squirmed like one. It was unwieldy and bizarre-looking, but it did the trick. They made videos all month, small ones of them eating lunch or practicing, longer ones where they gave fictitious tours of Grimmauld Place or dared each other to do flying stunts in the back of Albus’s house. Hugo went to his university library and got them books on film theory which no one actually read, but which they all pretended to look at very carefully. Rose played around with editing.

Scorpius was sitting in his father’s kitchen when the next piece of the puzzle fell into place. His grandmother was over, talking to his father, and he was avoiding her in a plate of spaghetti.

He heard a sigh, then an “I’ll try, Mother”, and then the sound of the front door closing. A few moments later, Draco entered the kitchen.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were in here,” he said. “Avoiding your grandmother, are you?”

Scorpius simply stared at his father and speared a meatball without breaking eye contact. Draco smirked. “Well, I suppose I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her today, either. You didn’t happen to make me any spaghetti, did you?”

Scorpius pointed to the counter where the bowl was waiting with a warming spell on it and no parmesan cheese.

“What did she want?” Scorpius asked carefully.

“Your grandfather’s been called to testify before the Wizgamot,” Draco replied. Scorpius could hear him fishing around in a drawer for a fork. “She wanted me to see if I could be there.”

It was probably a parole hearing for one of Lucius’s old crowd. It wasn’t the first time the Ministry had waived his house arrest to haul him in front of a committee. They took hours to complete, and while Scorpius’s grandfather complained incessantly about someone his age having to sit through “bureaucratic nonsense”, Scorpius knew he relished his brief periods of relative freedom.

“What does she want you there for?” Scorpius asked.

“To keep her company.” Draco joined Scorpius on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “She’s going to sit through it with him, and she doesn’t want to be alone. They’re not too friendly towards her over there. Perhaps understandably,” he allowed.

If Narcissa was going to be there all day, and Draco was going to be there as well or in his office…

“What day is this happening?” Scorpius asked.

“November fifteenth. Why?”

“No reason.” Scorpius scarfed down his last few bites of pasta. “Um, Dad,” he said. “I forgot a book at Albus’s. I’m going to go grab it.”

He placed his bowl in the sink. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Two minutes later, he had Apparated across the city and was pounding on the door of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Roxanne opened the door. “Where’s the fire, Scor?”

“Albus here?”

“Yeah, he’s working on something in the back parlor with Rose and Hugo.”

“Perfect.” Scorpius squeezed her shoulder and breezed past. “Thanks.”

He practically flew across the house and screeched to a halt in front of the doorway. Albus and his cousins looked up in surprise.

Scorpius gripped the doorframe tight, feeling a wicked grin spread unbidden across his face.

“I know what we can smash,” he said.

 

 

 

 

Rose pointed the camera up at the family crest above the door.

“Nice dragons,” O.K. said.

“What’s the Latin say?” Albus asked.

“Purity will always conquer,” Hugo translated.

Brenna snorted. “They’re all so original with those, aren’t they?”

Scorpius pulled his coat tighter around him. He had never liked this house. All his life, he’d never liked it. Today was going to be fun. He pointed his wand at the door, which opened easily for him. Being a Malfoy sometimes had its advantages. For example, breaking and entering the ancestral home was apparently a cakewalk.

“Ok,” he said when the large oak door had closed behind them. “We probably have at least five hours. I think we should do all the smashing in the big hall in the east wing.” He pointed down the hall. “It’s got lots of space and decorative shit, plus huge windows for light.”

Rose was nodding. “Sounds good.”

“All right, directors,” Brenna said, flopping an arm across Hugo’s and O.K.’s shoulders. “Get directing.”

Hugo and O.K. immediately began talking at once, sometimes finishing each other’s sentences, sometimes simply speaking in gestures. Scorpius played referee and translator as they explained their plan as best they could, searching the house for the right high-backed chair and family china as Rose set up the microphone and instruments in the hall in the east wing with Brenna. Albus ran back and forth between the two.

When he and Scorpius entered the hall half an hour later, Scorpius watched Albus’s face as they came through the door. Brenna and O.K. had levitated the dining room table into the hall and placed it sideways, facing north-south. The furniture had been pushed to the sides, and a fire set roaring in the hearth behind the table. The table itself was bare, save for two glistening, translucent shapes, the size of a grown man and twisted into a form Scorpius knew Albus would recognize. He and Brenna had debated this idea for a long time, but ultimately decided it was too good to pass up.

“Are those…ice sculptures?” he asked.

“Yep,” Scorpius answered.

“Ice sculptures of Dark Marks.”

“That’s right.”

“Why are they there?”

“For bludgeoning.”

“Why are there two?”

“Because Scor and I each get to destroy one,” Brenna said excitedly.

“Yep,” Scorpius said again. “Just a little flick, and kaboom.” He pantomimed flicking his wand at the Marks.

“Not exactly,” Hugo said, coming over with a bag slung over his back. “Not with wands,” he explained.

“With what, then?” Albus asked.

Instead of replying, Hugo reached into the bag and pulled out an object as long as Scorpius’s arm. Rounded at both ends, wooden and polished. A baseball bat.

“Wicked,” Scorpius breathed.

“And that’s not all,” O.K. called from across the room. He was inspecting one of the candelabras stuck into the gilt wall. “Wait till you see what we’ve got in store for the rest of the room. Hope you practiced your repairing spells, because it’s going to be a long cleanup.”


	11. Kaboom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A turning point. Possibly *the* turning point.

_The camera starts at knee level, sweeping up until black shoes become visible, tapping over flagstones. The shoes climb steps, there’s a suit-clad shoulder, a hand with a heavy ring on a doorframe as the door opens. A shot of the top of the door, where the Malfoy family crest hangs proudly. The back of Hugo’s neck disappears into gloom, and the door slams. White letters proclaim the name of Memory Charm._

_Blackness._

_Brenna’s bass guitar comes in._

_The camera’s low again, shaky, unsteady, weaving around the hallway. Oak floors, dark walls, and then marble, pattered black and white. The background harmonies come in, and so does Albus’s opening riff. The camera speeds across the stone floor, stopping at another set of black dress shoes, and rises to reveal crossed legs, a relaxed posture, a pale hand hanging over the arm of a divan. Scorpius Malfoy in an impeccable blue suit, eyes dark, hair perfectly tousled, chin raised in a challenge, and a smile on his face that could cut glass. The collar of his shirt is open, and he’s not wearing a tie. He has a crystal glass of something amber in his hand._

_He starts to sing. The words speak of the end of an era, and the music under it pulses with something that might be violence. Scorpius rises from the divan. The glass hits a gilt table and a drop spills._

_The drums start in earnest, two patterns on top of each other._

_Brenna turns around from her place by the fire and coolly appraises the camera. Her dress dips low on her back and shimmers to the floor. It’s green and almost glows against her skin where it reflects the light._

_The Dark Marks stand on the table, glistening and giving off steam, refusing to melt. Firelight flickers through them._

_Brenna reaches a graceful hand into the fireplace and pulls out a poker. The red-hot end of it draws a glowing, lingering circle in the air next to her dress. It lands on her shoulder somewhere behind her hair. The handle is intricate and plated in gold._

_The old world has lingered too long. It’s common knowledge, but no one says it. These words, these people, are going to say it._

_Brenna’s profile shows a mischievous quirk at the corner of her mouth before Scorpius enters the frame. From the front, they glance at each other, confirming something. Back in profile, they begin to walk. The end of Scorpius’s baseball bat is the last thing to leave in the shot. Head-on, they continue to move like they’re underwater._

_Their heads appear over the top of the table as they climb over a set of chairs. Brenna’s heels are green, too, and they’re razor sharp. Scorpius’s foot leaves the brocade fabric of the makeshift step. Brenna’s shoe hits the dark wood of the table._

_Brenna and Scorpius stand on the table, feet apart, aggressive, arrogant, victorious already. They stare down the camera. They look like millions and millions of galleons. The end of Brenna’s poker smokes._

_The words are possessive, almost threatening. They claim the world._

_The music quiets._

_And crashes in again as Brenna and Scorpius turn and smash their weapons into the Marks. They explode, slowly, deliberately, from three different angles._

_The words put a crown on their heads. It’s all ours now._

_Albus’s hand slams on the guitar strings. Several voices are singing now. He leans towards the microphone, hair flopping artfully over his forehead, eyes flashing at the camera. Hugo slams his drumsticks down in a succession almost too complex to process. O.K. grins as he splays his fingers over a keyboard._

_The line repeats and Scorpius grabs the microphone stand in front of Albus, pulling it close to the camera as he lunges forward. The table is gone and only scattered furniture remains. A puddle of water on the floor reflects Albus as he leans backward slightly, eyes intent on his fingers flying over the neck of the guitar._

_Brenna sings in profile, directing her anger towards something the camera cannot see._

_The second verse begins._

_Scorpius’s leg is thrown over the arm of a high-backed chair in the middle of the darkened hallway. Brenna’s arm dangles over the top and her cheek rests on the wood. It’s a pose that’s relaxing and threatening at once. They sing a list of ostentatious, frivolous things. Things they don’t have the time or the inclination to care about._

_Now it’s Hugo in the chair. O.K. stands beside him._

_Brenna’s fingernails are gold, and they pluck at the bass’s strings._

_The baseball bat taps into Hugo’s hand._

_Drumsticks hit the snare._

_Albus steps on the chair’s back and it falls, shooting him forward towards the camera as he bites out the line._

_The words say the world won’t remember this house, but they will remember the people in that chair._

_Hugo is on the arm of the high-backed chair. Albus sits in it. They stare down the camera and calmly sing the futility of putting up a fight._

_The chorus starts again. In the ballroom, Scorpius holds the microphone in his hand and leans close. Brenna snarls at the camera and tears a curtain in two with her hands. Scorpius drapes himself over the microphone so the words don’t escape his control. O.K. rips a candelabra off the wall, tearing the wallpaper._

_The words say that if doors go up, they’ll kick them down._

_Brenna inspects her nails in the high-backed chair and echoes the words._

_Hugo beats on the drums. He points his wand to the side. A puffed-up couch is eviscerated._

_Albus picks up a decorative vase and tosses it into the air, where it slows against the laws of physics._

_Brenna and Albus lean towards one of the microphones, grinning at each other. Behind them is a glimpse of the devastation once they’re done with the room._

_Albus smashes the vase out of the air with Scorpius’s baseball bat._

_Brenna’s heels dangle from her hand as she walks between two blurry, but evidently splintered, pieces of furniture._

_Scorpius flings away the leg of some chair._

_The camera swings around Hugo and O.K. as they play._

_A grandfather clock bursts apart, its face scattered everywhere._

_Hugo tosses a porcelain plate into the fireplace._

_The bridge is quieter, deceptively so. The camera is back in the hallway. The chair is empty. Down the hallways, portrait after portrait is bare of occupants._

_The music stops completely._

_Memory Charm stands assembled. Scorpius in the center, Hugo and O.K. behind him in the space between. Albus on his right, Brenna on his left. The room is pristine again, the floors still shining and the windows standing tall and glimmering and towering over all of them._

_Hugo raises his drumsticks. In the silence, they begin to fall._

_The next note makes all the windows explode inward. The crystalline pieces rain down in a fractured shower, baptizing the five of them the kings and queen of a revolution._

_Scorpius’s head is thrown back and his eyes are closed, singing the impossible note with all he has._

_The glass still falls as they play the final chorus in a room destroyed, sometimes slowly, sometimes in real time._

_Brenna. Albus. Hugo. Brenna again. O.K. Scorpius._

_The final riff sounds, repeats twice._

_Scorpius sits back down on the divan. It’s slanted now, one of its legs broken, stuffing leaking out from great slashes in the fabric. Scorpius looks exactly the same. As the camera backs away warily, the other four appear, all impeccable, all defiant, draped around the broken furniture. The lyrics finished, Scorpius hands the crystal glass to Brenna. She sips from it, arching an eyebrow over the rim._

_Everything goes black._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a comment because I’m curious: what song played in your head when you read this?


	12. The Late-Night Sounds of Grimmauld Place

Scorpius wasn’t sure what had woken him. Thirst, probably, as he was definitely parched. After taking a moment to remember where he was — he had crashed in James’s room at Grimmauld Place, since James was sleeping at his girlfriend’s or something — he made his way down the stairs in the dark and through the house to the kitchen. He waved his wand at a light fixture and squinted when it threw a bright beam into his face, then reached into the cupboard for a glass. They had never been able to get electrical wiring into all the rooms in Grimmauld Place. Parts of the house — some of the walls, a lot of the decoration, a bit of the furniture, and one or two entire rooms, including the one at the end of the third floor hall with a tapestry on the wall — refused to leave the past, preferring to stay magically frozen as they were. Scorpius permitted himself a grim smile as he drank. They were going to smash that past into a million melting pieces very soon, and everyone would know it. There was a knot in his stomach, a tangle of nerves that wouldn’t let him rest (maybe that was what had woken him after all) every time he felt a ghostly impact of the bat hitting the column of ice. This was going to be big. He could just feel it.

And after all, how wonderful had it felt, being up there on the high table, catching the glint in Brenna’s eye across the way? Seeing Albus throw a porcelain vase into the air and smash it one-handed? And watching the two of them sing together, sharing a microphone, burnt all golden in the light through the windows, slanting off their guitars and into his eyes till they were too bright to look at? Scorpius had always felt so pale and bleached next to the two of them, like he had been painted by an artist who only had black and white to work with, while they were lovingly brought to life in vibrant technicolor. He didn’t mind it much; he would rather gaze at that color than see it in a mirror, if he had to choose. They were beautiful, both of them. He knew better at this point than to tell himself he didn’t think so. But only one of them kept him up at night (another reason why he might be awake at three in the morning).

That one walked through the door as Scorpius drained the last of the water.

“Scor?” Albus ventured, as if summoned from Scorpius’s thoughts. “That you?”

Scorpius placed the glass in the sink. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Not at all,” Albus said. “I’m just…” He trailed off, offering a shrug as he ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping on the exhale. He was wearing his glasses, Scorpius noticed. He only did that when he was reading, which meant he hadn’t simply woken up to get a drink or go to the bathroom. He’d been up for a while.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Albus winced. “Don’t worry about it.”

Scorpius let a teasing smile dance over his lips. “Alfred.”

“Stop…” Albus left the kitchen, making for one of the parlors.

“Alonso?”

“Scorpius…”

“Aloysius?”

Albus whirled around, arms crossed. “Scoreboard,” he shot back. He didn’t look angry, but he was trying to.

Scorpius copied his pose. “How long have we been friends?”

Albus smirked. “Too damn long.”

Scorpius offered him a real smile. “There he is.” He dipped his head a little to make Albus look at him. “Now, talk to me.”

“You’re not going to like it,” Albus said.

Scorpius gripped his biceps firmly and tried not to notice how strong they felt, all knotted with tension. He’d had a dream about those arms around him earlier in the week, and it was very bloody inconvenient to remember at the present moment. “Tell me what’s got you in such a state.”

Albus sighed again, looking down at the floor. For the first time, Scorpius felt nervous about what Albus was going to say. Scorpius watched Albus’s jaw work, saw the moment when he decided to speak his mind.

“I don’t know if we should do the video,” he said.

“What?”

Albus turned away, sitting down heavily on the couch. “Told you you wouldn’t like it.”

Scorpius didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. Albus had looked as pleased as he had been when they had watched the final product with Rose. He’d seemed excited about it.

“But—“ he tried to make sense of it and came up with nothing. “But it’s already done. It’s — why not?”

Albus looked up sharply. “What if it goes badly?”

“Al…”

“No, seriously.” Albus waved a hand absently, inviting Scorpius to picture the possibility. “What happens if it just flops? If it totally doesn’t catch on or work or change anything or do anything? What will happen?”

Scorpius felt like the trueanswer to this question would not be the one he was about to give, but it was the only one he had. “We’ll find another way to say what we want to say.”

Albus nodded curtly. “Exactly.”

He looked even more anxious now. Scorpius blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t understand.”

“If this doesn’t work,” Albus repeated, “you can find another way to communicate the same thing.”

“Right…” he wished Albus would just tell him. It was too late at night and there was too much at stake for all this beating around the bush. But he didn’t want to press him. He saved up all his stores of patience specifically for nights like this.

“I don’t have another way to do that. This is how I do it.”

“Music, you mean.” That made sense, partly. Scorpius sometimes understood Albus best through his guitar or his singing voice, and so did other people.

Albus nodded. “If something happens to this medium, you can do something else, and I…I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Scorpius gripped Albus’s knee, made his voice as encouraging as he could. He didn’t like the thought of Albus having limits, either. In fact, the thought of Albus needing any kind of crutch for anything was almost laughable. Albus was too strong for that.

Albus only shook his head. “I don’t think that’s true. It’s so much harder.”

“You can communicate with me just fine.”

“Yeah,” Albus acknowledged, “but you don’t count.”

“Ouch.”

“You know what I mean.”

Scorpius sighed. He did know. It made his heart pump faster to think about it sometimes, how easy it could be to know exactly what Albus needed in a given moment. He wasn’t experiencing that knowledge now and it was not a state he wanted to stew in long.

“I need your words to say what I want to say,” Albus said. He leaned back onto the couch, making Scorpius’s hand slide back off. “I wish I didn’t.”

“I need you, too,” Scorpius reminded him. “Nothing I write makes sense without your music behind it. We’re a team.”

“I know.” Albus took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. He looked out the window at the glow of the streetlights on the rain-slicked street that couldn’t see the house. “And that means a lot to me. I still wish I could do it myself though. I have so much I want to say — communicate — whatever. There’s just so much in me that wants to get out. And I can do that with this, with this music that I make. There’s a part of me in it. It’s always mine in some way.” He blew out a hard exhale. “Just…mine. Independent of everything else.”

Scorpius made the connection. “It’s just…Al’s. Right? Not Albus Potter-Weasley’s…” Albus simply looked back at him, waiting for him to figure out the rest. “And if we do this, we’re making or breaking our work on something that requires you to be, unequivocally, your father’s son. And it will take a long time for anyone to think of you as anything else, if they ever do.”

Scorpius could understand. It certainly made sense. What were they fighting for here if not for the right to not be judged by their fathers?

Albus played with his glasses in his lap, leaning forward again to rest his elbows on his knees. “I mean, James is a personality — practically a new species — in his own right. He’s no one other than himself. And Lily needs no help expressing anything. Stay in a room with her for three minutes and you’ll know exactly what’s on her mind. And I just want….” He trailed off, looking into the semi-darkness of the room and seeing nothing. “I want to be….more. Without any help. More, just as me. You know?”

Albus looked deflated, defeated. Scorpius had to do something to fix that. There was no good reason for it and it grated at him to see it. What better way than with the truth?

“You are more, Al,” he said. He reached out, nudging Albus’s chin towards him with his fingers. Albus stared at him in the dimness, green eyes wide and tired. “You just — you are.”

Albus swallowed hard, and Scorpius followed the motion of his Adam’s apple with his eyes. He wanted to press his lips to it, capture the skin around it with his teeth, so he dropped his hand. He had to focus. No matter how beautiful Albus was, he needed him right now. There were things more important.

“Have you been holding this in all this time?” he asked.

Albus didn’t respond, and that was enough of an answer for Scorpius. He didn’t know what surprised him more — what stung more, really — that Albus had been carrying this weight around for such a long time, or that he hadn’t felt like he could tell him about it until it was a last ditch effort at three in the morning.

“Al, why…” he scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Why do it, then?”

“Because it’s important,” Albus said heatedly. “Because someone needs to say it. Because I want to say it. Because I want you to have — to be — whatever you want.”

Scorpius had nothing to say to that. It was too late. All their plans had already been set in motion. And whether Albus wanted to or not, Scorpius had to do this. He and Brenna had to do this. He couldn’t make her — make any of them — wait any longer. Now was the time to strike on this, and this was the way they had chosen to do it. They couldn’t take it back now. And even if they could, they shouldn’t. He knew that, and from the look on Albus’s face, he knew it, too.

But why shouldn’t Albus also be able to get what he wanted? Why couldn’t Scorpius fulfill his own mission and prevent Albus from losing himself at the same time? Why was the path that led to Scorpius’s goals the same one that led away from Albus’s? And it was more complicated than that, wasn’t it? The paths weren’t even opposite, they were one and the same, they were parallel, they were twisted and warped and blended into each other until they had no choice except to keep moving forward on the one road they could actually see in the dark. Scorpius’s heart wrenched as he saw a gulf widen between the two of them on the couch. He moved closer to combat it, frustration warring with concern within him. How had they let it come to this? How had everything gotten so tangled while he wasn’t looking? And why hadn’t Albus fucking said anything?

“What about the band in general?” he asked. “I mean, you always knew it was going to end up here.”

“It was selfish, I guess,” Albus said. “I wanted my work to matter, for people to listen to it. I needed you guys for that. And I guess I hoped if I got the ball rolling that, I don’t know, it wouldn’t matter what I was saying with my music, just that I was doing it at all. But it…it does. And I want it to, even though I don’t at the same time.” He sighed again. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Scorpius assured him softly. “It does.”

They sat there in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

Albus broke the quiet. “The public reaction to this video,” he began. “There’s a possibility... It could be...bad, you know. Very bad.”

The knot in Scorpius’s stomach made itself known, twisting uncomfortably. Scorpius squashed it.

“I know,” he said. But he didn’t believe it, not really. There was no way this could fail. He wouldn’t let it. But Albus’s face was pinched in distress, the muscles in his back knotted tightly through his t-shirt. So Scorpius asked the question he didn’t want to ask.

“Do you want us to find another way? Like you said —“

“No.” Albus’s voice was firm, almost angry. “I’m not asking you to throw all that work out. Any of you. I decided to be part of this, and I’m not backing out. It’s my work, too.” Scorpius could tell he was afraid. Afraid and choosing to ignore it. He remembered what Albus had told him on the roof years ago, about Slytherins being brave. He couldn’t have asked for a better example than this.

“It’s…” Albus looked into his eyes then with such a bright intensity that Scorpius had to actively remember to breathe. “It’s worth it. Whatever happens, it’s worth it.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius whispered.

Albus simply nodded. After a moment, Scorpius nodded too. Then he sighed and lifted his arm so Albus could rest his head on his chest, leaning back against the back of the couch.

That was how Rose found them the next morning, Albus’s face nestled into the crook of Scorpius’s neck, Scorpius’s lips just barely brushing his temple. She didn’t wake them until noon.


	13. The Might of the House of Malfoy

They split up into Wizarding London on a blustery weekend in the middle of December, plastering the posters wherever they could, followed by their own music as they ran from column to column and wall to wall. On the bulletin boards of university common areas, in The Leakey Cauldron, just outside a main entrance of the Ministry of Magic, the members of Memory Charm placed their work and their message directly in the pedestrian path of their world.

And it exploded.

It wasn’t the word the Prophet used the next day in a small article in the arts section. It wasn’t the word the announcer on the radio used the day after, the first time a major station played a Memory Charm song, or the word they used the day after that when “Taking the Crown” hit Wizarding airwaves. But by the end of the week, it was the word that Selena Bennett-Jones used in Prophet Magazine.

Exploded.

Like a Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes firework, they had lit the fuse and launched themselves into stardom. Everything began to happen very quickly. Each of them had suddenly overflowing mailboxes, and Grimmauld Place was mobbed by owls bringing requests for interviews and gig offers. Brenna and Scorpius collected all of the former and Rose and Hugo all of the latter, and slowly but surely, a tour began to take nebulous shape for the summer. (Hermione and Draco were especially insistent that the school year be preserved for school work.) There were many more journalists to dodge in public, too. Some even had the brains to disguise themselves as Muggles before trying to enter their university campuses. Some did not. Hugo and O.K. enjoyed imitating them. They agreed to hold off on their first major interview until after Christmas — although they’d done smaller ones — preferring to leave the world in suspense while they prepared and planned, congratulated themselves on their small technological miracle, and enjoyed the fact that people actually knew the tunes to their songs besides themselves. People were certainly listening now.

Their classmates and friends were generally remarkably unobtrusive about the whole thing. After all, they had mostly been attending school with the most famous children in the Wizarding World for over two years now. And their Muggle friends, such as they were, were just as endearingly out of it all as they had been before.

But things had changed, and Scorpius could scarcely believe it. It had worked! They were getting somewhere. They were being noticed — his friends, his words, his mission — and they were all a little giddy about it, shaky and excited in their luck like a newborn colt.

Scorpius just wanted to run with it all, but there was Christmas to contend with. All the late-night ramblings about touring and frantic rushes to turn up the volume on the radio when a song came on and debates about which magazine should be allowed to feature them on the cover had to be put on hold while Scorpius joined his father in attending an uncomfortable, formal dinner in a house where no one was excited or even remotely proud of what had happened in the last few weeks. By the time they stepped up to the gates of Malfoy Manor, Scorpius was in a juvenilely grouchy mood.

Draco noticed, and reminded his son that there was popcorn, Lawrence of Arabia, and copious amounts of eggnog waiting at home. Scorpius had to concede that he was looking forward to that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. His grandparents had probably gotten wind of Memory Charm’s popularity by now, but being the uncomfortable, formal people that they were, he couldn’t imagine they would say anything besides a veiled comment or two about it. They were definitely the type to pretend something didn’t exist if it didn’t mesh well with their vision of the world. Twenty years of dinners at this house had taught Scorpius that much.

Narcissa asked polite questions about school and work throughout all of dinner, keeping the conversation from lagging all the way until dessert. Scorpius described his magical classes, leaving out the ones about Muggle philosophy and literature. The philosophy one was his current favorite, actually, and he might have said something about it to his grandmother if it was just her, but his grandfather was a sobering presence on the end of the table, although Lucius was silent for most of the meal. Once or twice, Narcissa or Draco tried to include him in the conversation, but he kept his answers short and clipped and went back to ignoring the rest of them, especially Scorpius. Scorpius was content to ignore him right back.

By the time everyone older than Scorpius was drinking (or in Draco’s case, politely refusing) sherry in one of the parlors, Scorpius determined that he deserved a break. He excused himself and started down the hall towards the nearest bathroom, then took a sharp turn in another direction, to the nearest library. It was the smallest in the house, and Scorpius’s favorite room, if he had one at all. It had a double set of doors, two sets of shelves, and a large marble mantlepiece over the fireplace.

Atop the mantlepiece was a large painting, a portrait of Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius. Scorpius smirked at it. It was uncomfortable and formal. Draco looked about ten or eleven, his chin held high over his dress robes, not a hair out of place, not looking at Scorpius so far below his eye level. It was a little difficult to reconcile this somber, perfect child with his father. Difficult, but not impossible. In this house, certainly, not impossible. Scorpius’s bad mood flared again. What could it have been like, growing up in this house? How often did that portrait actually reflect reality? Had it gotten more and more infrequent over the years as stakes rose again? What was it like for his father, being back here? And why did they never eat in the other dining room, on the table where Scorpius and Brenna had smashed Dark Marks made of ice?

A soft click brought Scorpius out of his thoughts. His grandfather was closing the library doors. Scorpius turned back to the painting without greeting him. This was supposed to be his break, and he didn’t take kindly to its interruption.

Lucius said nothing until he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his grandson, looking up at the little family made of brush strokes and magic.

“He was so young,” he said.

“He looks so serious,” Scorpius replied.

Lucius appraised his oil paint son. “Well, he was a smart boy. Not concerned with the frivolities of the other children when he could be thinking about something greater.”

Like what? Scorpius thought, irritated. Blood purity? Did anyone even consider asking Draco if he wanted to think about “something greater”? He knew his grandfather was probably just trying to brag, though, and decided, in the interest of Christmas, that he had no problem with people saying what they believed to be nice things about his father. He didn’t say anything in response though, and let his gaze wander up to the complicated rafters of the room, gothic and echoey and expensive, like the rest of the house.

“Claudius Malfoy built a house on this spot in 1067,” Lucius said suddenly. Scorpius fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was difficult, considering they were already pointed towards the ceiling. “There has always been a Malfoy living here since. Of course, it looks quite different from the original now, but the lives of hundreds of generations are woven into these walls. The stones under our feet are older than entire civilizations. There is something immensely…important about that, don’t you think?”

A prickle of unease brushed the nerves in Scorpius’s stomach. There was a distinct possibility that Lucius was simply giving a lecture. He did enjoy doing that. Studying his face, Scorpius couldn’t detect anything that passed for emotion, but he was talking rather specifically and pointedly about the house. Was he trying to say something about the video? Was it possible he’d actually seen it? But even if he had, why wasn’t he simply coming out and saying what he thought about it? He wasn’t usually shy about his opinions. Scorpius turned back to the ceiling and squashed the nerves. Lucius Malfoy was a shut-in, and probably didn’t know much of anything about what Scorpius and his friends been doing, if he even cared to look into it at all. After all, they weren’t that famous. It was certainly possible to ignore them. Scorpius was preparing to launch into an internal lecture to himself about ego when Lucius spoke again.

“Your father broke a piece off of that mantlepiece when he was very small. It was his first sign of magic. I kept it cracked for a long time, but someone fixed it some time ago. I never found out who. I’m sure you didn’t know that.” He fixed Scorpius with a superior look. Scorpius was intimately familiar with it. But the fact that Lucius had left an imperfection on his perfect house because Draco had made it was interesting. It was easy to forget sometimes that no matter how he and his grandparents saw each other, they always had common ground in the form of a deep and abiding love for Scorpius’s father.

“No,” he said, honestly. “I didn’t.” He tried to picture a tiny version of his father looking joyfully up at the crack he’d made in the white marble. He smiled to himself.

Lucius tsk’ed, turning to the nearest bookshelf. “Quite a shame,” he said. “You see, Scorpius, this is why it’s so unfortunate that you don’t come around more often. You need people to tell you these things, to tell you your history, who you are.”

Scorpius knew his father would tell him to be polite here, but his father was in the other room. “I think I can decide who I am for myself, thanks.”

“I’m of the opinion that children should be educated,” Lucius said, as if Scorpius hadn’t spoken at all. Now, no longer under his grandfather’s gaze, Scorpius did roll his eyes. “Guided on their paths to knowledge by those older and wiser.”

Scorpius grit his teeth. “I appreciate that, but I really think —“

“So it therefore falls to one such as your grandfather to confront you with the atrocities you’ve committed under this very roof.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Scorpius could feel the chill they had set off in the room. He watched his grandfather turn slowly from the bookshelf to face him.

“Ah, yes. I know all about the little stunt that you pulled in the east wing in November.”

Scorpius raised his chin defiantly, refusing to be impressed. If Lucius wanted have this argument, it was bait to which Scorpius would willingly rise. It was inevitable, really.

Were any outside observer there to witness, it would be impossible not to notice how the small boy on the wall and the young man standing on the floor echoed each other across the cavernous time and space of the library.

Lucius’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Perhaps you don’t fully understand the gravity of what you’ve done,” he hissed. “So allow me to enlighten you. You invited mudbloods and blood traitors into this house. You let them track their filth on these ancient floors and help you destroy the dignity of this family in front of the entire world.”

Scorpius refused to move. “Those are my friends,” he said, as calmly as he could. “And we’re not sorry.”

Lucius smiled. There was no mirth in it at all. ”Oh, yes. I know. I’ve watched your little whatever-it’s-called and you seem exceedingly arrogant in your treachery. You care nothing for how this looks, how it affects anyone connected to you. You think there are no consequences, no price to pay.”

“Actually,” Scorpius shot back. “I think the consequences are exactly what I wanted them to be right now.” He let a little of that arrogance Lucius mentioned slip into his tone.

“That’s because you haven’t been made aware of all of them yet.” Lucius was still smiling that smile. He had moved several steps closer to Scorpius. And Scorpius had had enough.

“Some things I’m probably better off not knowing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He walked to the door without giving his grandfather another glance, closing his hand around the wrought-iron doorknob.

The knob didn’t turn.

He tried the other one. It, too, was locked.

Scorpius finally located the good sense to be afraid.

“I am sorry so many people have failed you,” Lucius continued behind him. Scorpius’s heart beat heavily in his chest as he turned around. He could hear the venom in his tone now. How could he have missed it earlier?

“Your father, first and foremost. I never had any hope for your mother in that regard anyway.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Scorpius snapped.

“Myself and your grandmother most of all, really.” Anger spiked through Scorpius’s fear. “We’ve seen this many times, you know. It’s every generation’s cross to bear. The problem with rowdy, vile children such as yourselves —“

“I am not a child.”

“Of course,” Lucius purred, placating, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. “You’re a big boy. I’m aware. All grown up and spewing your little protests all over the legacy of this family.”

That was enough bullshit for one day.

“My protests are the legacy of this family, whether you like it or not!” He took two quick steps towards his grandfather, who only kept smiling that infuriating smile. “I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, grandfather, but I am the Malfoy line. That’s it. Just me. Times are changing with or without your permission, and at the end of the day, it’s my choices that are going to decide how people think of the Malfoys in fifty years.”

Lucius began to laugh. It chilled Scorpius to the bone. It was the laugh of someone who knew what had happened in the other dining room and still ate breakfast there. “Oh, you poor, deluded boy. You truly think so, don’t you? You see, this is why it’s all so terribly, terribly tragic. No one has educated you. All that newfangled schooling and no one has been able to tell you the facts of life. Facts your father knew when he was much younger than you are now.” Scorpius turned back to the door.

“Your actions are not your own,” Lucius called after him. “They are a reflection of the hundreds of generations before you. The bricks of this house are as much your bones as any under your skin.”

Scorpius pulled his wand from his pocket to unlock the door and it was gone, skittering across the floor. He whirled around. The first thing he noticed was that Lucius’s cane was no longer touching the floor, but clutched in his hand. And Lucius’s wand was pointed at Scorpius’s chest. In retrospect, that should have been the first thing he noticed. His stomach roiled.

“What are you doing?” Scorpius whispered.

“Your actions have consequences, Scorpius. I already told you.” Scorpius’s wand wasn’t that far away on the floor. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. “We have standards in this family. Rules. Discipline. Honor and code.” If he moved fast enough… “When you break them, especially as flagrantly and disgustingly as you have, they have a way of snapping back at you.”

Scorpius took a step towards his wand. There was a crack — dull, loud, sickening — and a sudden fire up his left arm. Scorpius gasped, from the shock as much as the pain, staggering backward. He stared, wild-eyed, at his grandfather, who appeared not to have even noticed that Scorpius had moved.

“And not just at you, my boy. Take that Potter brat, for example.” Lucius paused, fixing a bitter smile at a point above Scorpius’s head. “Oh, how I wish I didn’t have occasion to say that phrase again. Well, who’s to say he could escape the fallout of your trespasses?” Panic bubbled, urgent, in Scorpius’s throat. His grandfather moved forward fluidly, confidently. Scorpius could see the purpose in his eyes. This performance wasn’t over.

“The might of this family is a powerful thing, Scorpius, more powerful than you know. Do not make the mistake of thinking that the walls of this house at all impede that might.”

All Scorpius could see were dark, determined eyes. In the depths of his soul, he believed him. He sucked in a breath, blood pounding in his head and in time with the pain in his arm.

Lucius leaned in close. The back of Scorpius’s head hit the door. “I will make this very simple for you. You will erase that godforsaken creation of yours from the face of the Wizarding World. You will disband your little hobby, stop your childish babbling to the press, and never associate with the likes of a Potter again. Especially that boy. Because if you don’t, in addition to the slew of other things that will be brought down on your head, I will have him killed.”

Scorpius went cold all over.

It could be bad, you know. Very bad.

“No.” Icy tendrils clenched around his heart, smothering it. There was not enough air in the room. The floor was dropping away under him. “You can’t. You’re bluffing,” he gasped.

The grim smile widened. “Oh, I assure you, I’m not. You have no idea what I am capable of. Now, do you accept the consequences of your actions, or don’t you?”

Scorpius scrabbled for a scrap of will, of defiance, of something. If the price of giving up was Albus’s life, Scorpius would hold on by his fingernails.

“You can’t stop us, grandfather,” he spat. “It’s already done. It’s bigger than me. Whatever happens to the video, the message isn’t going anywhere, and there is nothing that you or I can do about it.”

He dug into the pain in his arm, into the arrogance of his grandfather’s gaze, and found anger, conviction. “I couldn’t take it back now if I wanted to. Which I never, ever will. In fact, I’m more sure than ever that destroying the evil of this house, even for a moment, was the best and noblest thing I’ve ever done.”

For a moment, Lucius froze. Scorpius froze. Neither of them breathed. Then Lucius sighed heavily, and turned back in the direction of the portrait over the mantlepiece. Scorpius staggered into the armchair to his left, eyes wide. His arm throbbed.

“That’s what I thought,” Lucius said quietly.

Scorpius’s pulse hammered in his ears. A tiny, cautious, flicker of victory made its mouse’s voice known in his heart.

“Pity,” Lucius said.

Scorpius breathed in deep. His grandfather turned, quick as lightning, and spat out a spell Scorpius had never heard aloud before.

As red light filled the room, Scorpius let out the breath in a scream.


	14. A Terrible Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who impatiently waited to find out what happened to Scorpius. Let's go save him now, shall we?

Fire lanced across his body, digging deep to pierce his bones. His skin must have been burning, freezing, peeling away, exposing his guts to the air. There was no release, no easing of the pressure, no control, no time, no light except that red glow. It was agony, pure and all-encompassing. Nowhere was safe from it. Nothing could stop it. Everything burned and froze and hurt, hurt, hurt so much that every breath was a throwing star dragged through his windpipe.

He did not know where he was. He did not know why this was happening. He did not care. He did not know anything except the pain.

He was distantly aware that he was screaming.

And then gasping, face pressed into the floor. He was shaking hard, pain still coursing through his veins with every heartbeat, but he could think. Sort of.

The room was fuzzy, somehow. Dust. It was dust, floating in the air. There was a hole in the wall, jagged and gaping. Light spilled through it.

Scorpius concentrated. People were shouting. Was it him? Was he still screaming? He didn’t think so.

Someone was gripping his arm, pulling him up. Dark eyes, white-blond hair.

Narcissa pressed something soft and fluid into his palm. She was speaking to him. He understood only the important words.

_Run. Harry Potter. Go._

There was a flash behind her, then another. Scorpius collapsed against the mantlepiece, but he held his hand tightly closed. He mustn’t drop the powder.

Another flash, and a piece of stone exploded near his head.

His father had cracked that stone long ago.

Scorpius dashed the powder to the ground beneath him.

“Harry Potter!”

Everything disappeared in green flame.

 

 

He tumbled out of the fireplace into the light and warmth of the Potter living room and hit the floor hard. He landed on his back on the carpet, greeted by a cacophony of worried voices and dropped teacups, but he didn’t open his eyes. It smelled safe here.

“Back up! Give him air!”

“Is he all right?”

“Careful, his arm!”

“What the fuck happened?”

“Scorpius?”

“I said, _back up_!”

“Scorpius!” He felt strong arms pull him up, hold him close. “Scorpius, can you hear me?” Ginny’s voice.

Scorpius nodded. “I can hear you.” It came out a rasp. “You have to close the floo.”

“What?” Ginny leaned close to hear him.

“Close the floo.”

A bolt of pain shot through him suddenly, seizing his muscles. He clenched his teeth against it and bit back a groan. Ginny repeated his message sharply, a marked contrast to the way she gently swiped a thumb under Scorpius’s right eye.

“Scorpius.” It was Hermione this time.

“I’m going to fix your arm,” she said. “All right?”

Scorpius bobbed his head unsteadily. Ginny’s arms tightened around him. Over Hermione’s shoulder, he could see Ron and George herding the cousins into the hallway. He could see Lily’s eyes, wide and concerned, over Ron’s arm.

“Count of three,” Hermione said. “One, two —“

There was a quick snap, and Scorpius’s arm cracked back into place. He hissed air in through his teeth. For a split second, everything was fine.

And then the pain came again, clawing at him. He curled in on himself, choking on a sob that wrenched itself out of his throat. He sucked in three breaths after it was over before it tore through him again like wildfire, scorching his insides and leaving him gasping, coughing.

Scorpius managed to lean away from Ginny before he retched onto the carpet. His stomach emptied itself until only acid remained. He coughed again, a wet, hacking thing, feeling tears slide down his cheeks to hit the ruined floor. He let his head hang limply between his shoulders while his whole body shuddered. His teeth chattered with the shaking. Why wasn’t it over? He just wanted it to be over.

Ginny’s hands were cool against his blazing skin as she brushed his sweaty hair back from his face. She rubbed a hand along his shoulders.

“You’re all right,” she whispered. “You’re all right. It will all be okay. Just breathe. Just breathe, Scorpius.”

Scorpius tried. It was a hitching sob more than a breath, but it was better than vomiting. He tried it again.

“Good,” Ginny said in his ear, firm and gentle. Her palm made soothing circles over his back. She brushed his hair back again. “You just keep breathing.”

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Ginny hushed him. “Shh, it’s fine. We’ll clean it. It’s all fine.” She reached for something past Scorpius’s line of sight, and he felt a towel against the hot skin of his cheek. He sat back, away from the mess he’d made, folding a knee under himself so he could hug the other one to his chest. He wiped the towel across his face with hands that still refused to stop shaking. Across the room, the fireplace was empty.

Harry came in from the dining room, holding a mug of something in his hands. He knelt on the floor in front of Scorpius, looking intently into his face. There was something terrible and knowing about his expression. His mouth was tight and his eyes blazed. Scorpius had never seen him look like that. Harry held out the mug to him and Scorpius dropped his gaze gratefully to the cup.

“This will help with the shaking and the nausea,” Harry said, something tense vibrating under the usually calm cadence of his voice. “It’s Hermione’s recipe, so it’s pretty damn good, but we’ll brew you something stronger just in case. The pain should stop flaring up in a few minutes.”

“How do you know?” Scorpius croaked. He didn’t know what made him ask it. Harry didn’t answer, only stared back at him with that look in his eyes, but Scorpius understood. He felt sick all over again. He took the mug from Harry, who turned to _Tergeo_ the carpet. Scorpius’s hands shook, almost too much to hold the cup properly. He managed to feel frustration about that and concentrated hard on getting the cup to his mouth. Ginny had stopped rubbing his back, but he could still feel her palm, warm through his dress shirt.

It tasted odd, as potions do, but he could feel relief settle pleasantly in his stomach almost immediately. He looked up at Hermione gratefully, who had appeared again in the entryway. She tried to police her expression into something encouraging, but mainly failed. She knew, too, she and Harry. They knew what had happened to him. They knew too well. It confirmed what Scorpius had already suspected. His grandfather had done something Unforgivable.

Scorpius’s head shot up. “Albus!”

“I’m here, Scor!” Albus ducked into the room like he’d been waiting in the hallway just to hear it. He dodged his uncles and stepped around his father, landing on his knees in front of Scorpius. His eyes flew over Scorpius’s face and his hands hovered an inch away from his body, like he was looking for injuries. Scorpius wanted to tell him he wouldn’t find any, but his relief that Albus was whole and safe choked his voice.

Gingerly, Albus took the mug from Scorpius’s grasp, sliding a hand around the back of his neck to pull him to his chest. Scorpius let out a harsh breath into Albus’s shirt. He wanted to laugh. Albus was holding him like Scorpius was the one in danger. How strange and twisted it all was. Another stinging tremor caused him to tense, making Albus hold him tighter, but the pain was already manageable, and his arm felt better too.

“Scorpius,” Albus whispered. “What the fuck is going on?”

A pounding on the door caused them all to jump. All heads snapped towards the noise, but no one spoke. Harry placed a finger on his lips and motioned to Ron and Angelina to cover him as he pulled out his wand. Grandma Molly’s wand was already out, angled in front of her grandchildren. Albus’s body blocked Scorpius’s view of the door.

The pounding came again. “Harry!” Scorpius looked up. It was his father. “Potter, you open this door right now! _Harry_!”

Harry didn’t move, except to turn his head in Scorpius’s direction. Draco pounded on the door again, and still Harry did nothing. Scorpius gaped. He was waiting for permission to open the door. Did he think Draco had done this to him?

Scorpius nodded jerkily at Harry.

Draco blew into the house, ignoring the amount of people in the hallway and the wands still pointed at him. He dropped to the floor in front of his son. Scorpius clutched his father tightly, unaware he’d even made the decision to move. He was more shocked than he should have been to find that Draco was trembling.

Scorpius felt a gentle hand brush his hair away from his closed eyes. His father was fighting to keep himself in control, he could see that right away. He looked disheveled, tiny cuts showing here and there over the pale planes of his face. There was a bruise forming on his cheekbone. It would swell if he didn’t do something to fix it soon, Scorpius thought. Had Lucius actually fought him that hard? How long had it lasted? Had he been arrested?

“Harry,” Draco was saying. “I need to talk to my son alone.” He was still looking into Scorpius’s face, and so he craned his neck to look backward when Harry didn’t answer him. Harry was looking at Scorpius, the same look as when he had hesitated at the door a few moments ago. A curl of anger flared small but bright in Scorpius as he looked at Harry. Draco would never, ever hurt him, no more than Harry could ever hurt Albus or James or Lily. Why didn’t Harry already know that?

“Please,” Scorpius said.

Harry nodded immediately, face softening as he motioned at the staircase. Draco slid an arm under Scorpius’s shoulders and pulled him up gently. Scorpius’s knees threatened to buckle only once before he righted them.

“I’m fine,” he said in answer to the unspoken question.

Father and son followed Harry to the second floor. Scorpius was mildly surprised when they ended up in the study. It was the first time he’d been there since he and Albus had stolen alcohol on James’s birthday, the summer before seventh year. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Draco helped his son to the couch, then turned back to face Harry. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, a conversation of some kind passing between them. It was an old conversation, one they’d had so many times that they didn’t have to speak it aloud anymore. One that always landed them on opposite sides of the same impasse. Scorpius knew it happened, but had never seen it himself. Seeing it now, he realized he’d failed to hear it through an Extendable Ear, many years ago. Terrible, really, how so much and so little had changed in all that time.

“Thank you,” Draco said. He didn’t elaborate.

Harry only nodded. Once. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Draco kept his eyes on the door after Harry had closed it. The energy that had held his spine rigid while Harry was in the room cracked, then weakened, then disappeared entirely. He ran an unsteady hand over his face.

“What did you tell them?”

It look a moment for Scorpius to realize Draco was talking to him. He blinked, surprised.

“Nothing.”

Draco only nodded.

“Did you call the police?” Scorpius’s voice was still hoarse from screaming.

No answer. His father simply walked towards him slowly.

Scorpius felt unease slide down his spine. “Dad, you called the police, right?”

Draco sat down heavily. He looked exhausted. He looked a familiar, terrifying kind of exhausted.

“We can’t call the police,” he said slowly. “He can’t go to Azkaban.”

Scorpius’s head spun. Nothing made sense. The world had tilted sideways and he was sliding off the end. “W-why not?”

“This — what he did to you…” Draco’s knuckles showed white where his hands clasped together between his knees. “It was for a purpose. It was a...strategic move.”

Strategic move? Scorpius fought to make sense of the words, but they slipped through his mind without so much as a ripple.

“I don’t understand.”

Draco was looking down at his hands. “My father believes he has...suffered a lot over the last few decades. Lost a lot. The Malfoy name is starting to get associated with things he believes he can’t let stand.”

Destroy the dignity of this family in front of the entire world, he’d said. An education where his father had failed. Scorpius remembered the look on his face and shivered.

“What he did to you…” Draco trailed off, clenching his teeth tightly. Scorpius could see his eyes shimmer in the soft light of the desk lamp. His father breathed in sharply through his nose. “He thinks that if he gets thrown into prison for defending the family name, he will gain back the power and allies he’s lost. So he baited you, to give him an excuse.”

In a sick way, it made a kind of sense. Grandson smashes a Dark Mark in front of the whole world. Grandfather tortures him into silence, becomes a martyr to the cause and stops the revolution in one cruel, calculated blow. And Scorpius had swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker.

“If he succeeds…I don’t know what will happen.” Draco finally looked back at his son. His eyes were rimmed in red, bright with desperation and tears he didn’t want to shed in a house that wasn’t his own. “But nothing happens if no one knows.”

His father’s gaze was magnetic, deep and earnest in a way that wrenched at Scorpius’s heart. He wanted to take away his father’s pain, knew he could if he just said yes, if he just stayed silent, but his grandfather…his grandfather would get away unscathed. Get away with a crime, _another_ crime! He’d already gotten away with so much…

And then it hit him. Draco saw it happen. It changed his face, added a new layer, something weaker and pathetic working its way into his eyes. Shame. He knew what Scorpius was going to say, even as he opened his mouth to say it, but he didn’t try and cut him off.

“At the end of the war,” Scorpius began, “he cut himself a deal, didn’t he? Snitched on anyone he could to keep himself out of prison. Seems to me he has a lot of enemies in Azkaban.” Draco looked to be made of stone. Only his eyes betrayed his understanding of where Scorpius was going with this.

“Seems to me,” Scorpius told him, “he could just as likely get murdered in the showers.”

Only then did his father flinch. He tried to hold Scorpius’s gaze, but his grip stuttered, and he glanced at the floor.

Scorpius’s throat went tight.

“Did you lie to me just now, Dad?”

“No!” Draco’s gaze shot back up to his son’s, earnest horror written on his face. He gripped Scorpius’s hands in his own, squeezing tightly. “No, I didn’t lie to you. I swear. And you’re right, he has lots of enemies in there. The plan would just as likely backfire as work, but Scorpius, please believe me when I say that I don’t know what would happen. I don’t know how it would end. And no one who does know would ever tell me, no matter what I did. And the consequences of it working might be…” He trailed off, reaching out to place a hand on Scorpius’s cheek.

“I can protect you better from what I know than what I don’t. And you are so, so precious to me.” Tears finally began to fall, crawling in silent, silvery trails down his cheeks as he dropped his hands again. “You’re more important than anything.” His voice broke, and Scorpius felt the fissures echo in his own chest.

“I need to be able to be strong for you,” he insisted, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Dad—“

“I’m not strong by nature, I never was. That’s why I was a Death Eater, you know, why I agreed to—to do terrible things. Not that I had the guts to carry any of them out. But your mother. She was strong. She made me strong. And then she gave me you, and you...you were beyond anything I’d ever dreamed. I thought I would never need anything else in the world besides the two of you.

“But life has never been particularly kind to our family. I think most of us deserved it, too. Not you though. And not her.

“You” — here Draco smiled, all broken and all cracked and filled with a stubborn pride all his own — “my son, are so strong, and I admire you so much for that. I envy you for that.

“It—it kills me that he hurt you, that I didn’t see it coming, that I couldn’t stop it.” Draco took a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this. I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much. More than I have any right to.”

“So you want me to just let it go,” Scorpius guessed. “To forgive him.”

“No.” Draco’s voice was firm. “No, I don’t want you to forgive him. Merlin knows I won’t. I know he doesn’t deserve it. I’m just asking you to — Please, I can’t— I can’t let him do this, and I can’t lose anyone else.”

“You could have lost _me_ , Dad!” Scorpius cried. “What if he’d chosen another curse?”

Draco pulled away like Scorpius had scalded him. “I never thought—“ His voice caught on a sob. “I never _dreamed_ he would hurt you. I swear to you, I couldn’t imagine…”

He buried his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry.”

Scorpius could only stare, watching his father’s shoulders shake as he gave up trying to fight the wracking sobs as they came, wave after wave. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen his father cry. He had never seen him cry like this. Not even when his mother had died. He had never seen anyone cry like this. It was horrible to look at, and Scorpius couldn’t bring himself to do it for long.

Desperate, his eyes searched the room for something else — anything else — to fixate on. The pictures, the certificates, the box of snitches…the two photographs, side by side, next to Lily’s macaroni frame. All those determined eyes. Harry in the center. James in the center. There were so many people surrounding them. If James listed to the right, Sirius was there to pull him back upright. If Harry’s knees buckled, Ron was right there to catch him. Even now, downstairs in this house, the same was still true. Family, friends, thirty people at the very, very least, the crowded, raucous presence of everyone’s love. A whole system of support, constant and unwavering and nearly obnoxious in their devotion. Harry had an army to back him. Draco had four people, and he’d already lost one.

Scorpius knew why Draco had started going to Christmas at Malfoy Manor after Astoria died. He suspected then and he was sure of it now. Three was stable. It was practically a law in magic; everyone knew it. Three was stable, and two, while they could balance each other, couldn’t stand on their own. Two more pillars, uncomfortable, formal, and wobbly as they were, were better than nothing.

But tonight, in one blast of red light, Lucius had shattered them all. If he died in prison, if Scorpius was the one to put him there, there would be no power strong enough to hold Draco up. Scorpius’s father would crumble, and he would have to watch it happen. Again. It might be slow this time.

Scorpius’s heart wrenched itself in knots like a wet rag. His fear dripped to the floor, pooling around his indecision and the sobering knowledge that ultimately, he would do anything if it meant he could keep his father from breaking completely.

And of course, there was the possibility that Lucius had not overestimated himself, that what he had done to Scorpius could cure all his ills, vanish the distance between himself and the people who would help him hurt Albus Potter. Scorpius could protect himself, that much he was sure of, but he couldn’t watch Albus all the time. Scorpius had no doubt in his mind that, protest or no protest, if Lucius had the opportunity, the confidence, and the means to kill his best friend, he would not hesitate for a second. He hadn’t considered it before tonight, but he knew it now. Scorpius would rather bare his neck to his grandfather, do this entire night ten times over, rather than take that risk.

So there it was. The answer to everything, the way to close all the doors. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t going to be easy, but it just might be the only way to keep Albus and his father safe. The only way he could save them both.

In the end, it wasn’t really much of a choice, was it?

“I’m never setting foot in that house again.”

For a moment, Draco didn’t move. Then, slowly, hopefully, he raised his head.

“The manor,” Scorpius clarified. “I’m never setting foot in there again. I will not send them letters. I will not speak to them. And I am never going back in the house.”

Draco nodded slowly. “All right.”

Scorpius’s head hurt. His cheeks were stiff from crying downstairs. He felt weak, and tired. But he was alive. And Albus was alive. And his father was looking more solid by the second.

Gentle hands held him again, gripping the sides of his neck. Draco let the weight of his wrists rest on Scorpius’s clavicles, let him feel the substantial nature of his presence. He glanced up.

“Thank you.” Draco paused, taking a deep breath.

“He will never touch you again,” he said. “Ever. I swear to you.”

Scorpius’s breath shuddered out his mouth. His father’s eyes were still shining, still red, still desperate, but there was an edge to them now, a conviction made of something concrete that glinted like polished metal.

“You don’t need them to be strong, you know,” Scorpius told him.

Draco smiled sadly at him. His crow’s feet deepened. “I wish I could believe you.”

“Some day, you will.”

Scorpius found himself tugged gently forward, and wrapped his arms tightly around his father. They sat there a while, listening to the clock tick and their own breathing as Draco ran his hand over Scorpius’s hair again and again.

Finally, his father pulled back.

“I have to do some damage control. I assume you want to stay here till I get back.”

“Yes. If that’s all right.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll ask Harry before I leave.”

“Okay.”

Draco held onto his face again. Once, he’d had to bend down to look into Scorpius’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice was choked with emotion.

“Scorpius Hyperion, I love you so much. And I am so proud of the man you are.”

Scorpius swallowed hard. “I love you too, Dad.” He hoped his father never doubted how much he meant that. A selfish part of him hoped he also appreciated the sacrifices he made because of it.

Draco, stood, pressed a soft, purposeful kiss onto Scorpius’s forehead, and went to open the door. Scorpius could hear him speaking quietly to Harry in the hall, but couldn’t make out the words. He leaned forward and rested the heels of his hands over his eyelids. The world collapsed into merciful darkness.

The couch dipped as Harry sank down on it. There was a long silence before Scorpius opened his eyes.

“Scorpius.” Harry’s brow was furrowed, but he kept his voice steady and even. It was the same way he’d talked about the war in class. “Are you going to tell me who did this?”

Scorpius looked down at his hands. “No, sir.”

Harry sighed. It was clearly the answer he was expecting to receive. Of course he had guessed who it was. He might have even guessed why. Harry had been playing this game a long time. “Just tell me you’re not protecting whoever is responsible.”

“No,” Scorpius said honestly. “I’m protecting someone else.”

Harry simply nodded slowly, understanding. “Well, I suppose I can’t fault you for that. Albus says his room’s all yours. You’ll let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

He felt Harry reach out and squeeze his shoulder, watched him walk to the door out of the corner of his eye. Should he tell him Albus was in danger? How much could he give away without destroying the delicate balance he’d just created? What if he just gave it all up right now? It would be so easy to just say it.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“You, er…” Scorpius ran a hand over the back of his neck. “You watch over your children, don’t you? Make sure nothing happens to them?”

“Of course I do. Always.”

“Even now?” Scorpius pressed. “When they’re away and living at Grimmauld Place and…playing in concert venues?”

Harry turned to fully face him. Something in that gaze told Scorpius that his children weren’t the only people he watched over. “Always.”

 

 

 

Scorpius sat on Albus’s bed an hour later, clean, wearing borrowed clothes, drinking tea, and staring at the walls. His father had sent a note that seemed to imply he had taken Lucius’s wand and hidden it somewhere his house arrest would not permit him to reach it. Scorpius did not try to delude himself into thinking that solved all of his problems. The note had also said Scorpius should probably sleep at the Potters’. Draco would probably be trying to gather information and keep the story from leaking out for the remainder of the night. Scorpius had stuffed the note in his pocket, and hadn’t looked at it since.

The house was quiet, all of the cousins at Ron and Hermione’s or back in their own houses. They would be back in the morning, but Ginny had argued that there had been quite enough excitement for one evening already. She was the one who had given him the tea, with strict instructions to tell her if any of the pain returned.

The door eased open, admitting Quaffle, who stationed herself next to the bed and cocked her head at Scorpius. He wondered what had made the Potters choose such a quiet pet.

He put the tea down and let himself fall sideways on Albus’s pillows. Quaffle took advantage of the change in space on the bed, hopping onto the covers and curling up along Scorpius’s arm. What a cat she was. Absently, Scorpius carded a hand through her fur. It was achingly soft to the touch.

He felt unbearably shitty. Not physically, exactly, though he still felt somewhat ill from earlier. Something deeper than that. An internal, existential shittiness. But he had done the right thing. He had done what he had to do. Why did it still feel so awful?

His thoughts were interrupted by Albus, who opened the door gingerly and made his way over to the bed. He was wearing pajamas and his glasses. He flicked on the bedside lamp and pointed his wand at the light switch on the other side of the room. The room clicked into a pleasant dimness. Albus looked at Quaffle like he expected her to move, but she didn’t. Scorpius watched his own fingers flatten Quaffle’s fur, only to have it spring up again.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Scorpius ran his hand over Quaffle’s side. Just another one of those choices that wasn’t really a choice at all.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he whispered. He looked up at Albus. “Ever.”

“Why not?”

Scorpius felt his mouth twist into something bordering on a smile. He’d asked the very same thing, hadn’t he? He didn’t answer.

“I won’t tell.”

There was a pause. “Quaffle would tell you if I was lying.”

Scorpius looked hard at his best friend, then down at the mass of fur in front of his face. Kneazles could sense deception, but Scorpius didn’t need the reassurance. It was more like he didn’t want to know what the words sounded like coming out of his own mouth.

Quaffle flicked a large ear and stood silently, gliding down off the bed like she was stepping into water. She padded silently to the door, disappearing out into the hallway. Whether Scorpius wanted it or not, she had given a seal of approval.

Albus pulled back the covers so Scorpius had to scramble, a little awkwardly, to get under them. He expected Albus to join him immediately, but he turned back towards the door instead. A flick of his wand made it shut. What he muttered next put an extra-strength silencing charm on it. The message was clear: whatever Scorpius said would never leave this room. It was almost laughable that Albus felt the need to show him so blatantly that he could be trusted. Scorpius had known that was true for a long time. Finally, his little demonstration over, Albus sat down on his bed and swung his legs over the side. He turned to face his friend, but Scorpius didn’t want to do this looking at him.

Albus had tiny stars pasted onto his ceiling. They hinted at luminescence now; Scorpius knew they would glow if the lights were completely off. It was a modest, scaled-down Great Hall ceiling. Scorpius had found it extremely endearing the first time he’d seen it.

“Did you know that the main reason my grandfather wasn’t sent to Azkaban in ninety-eight was because they couldn’t produce a credible witness who’d seen him perform an Unforgivable curse? It would have overridden all his testimony, but there wasn’t anyone able to prove it.” He sighed, frustrated, fighting to keep it together. This was the hard part. The words were heavy, measured to keep them flowing a little at a time. They were powerful words. They would change things. “And now, all this time later, there’s proof. I am the proof. The only proof. I could send him to Azkaban. I could make sure he rots there for the rest of his miserable existence. Make him trade his fucking mansion for a tiny cell and stay there until he dies. He deserves it. No one can deny he deserves it.”

The rest stuck in his throat. He was so angry. Angry at his grandfather for hurting him and his father. Angry at his father for asking him to let it go. Angry at himself for not being able to voice the decision he’d made, to own it for real.

Albus finished for him. “But you’re not going to.”

Scorpius lost the battle with his composure. As he breathed back out, he could feel a tear escape his left eye and slip down towards his ear. He knew Albus could see it, practically felt the moment he realized it was there.

“I want to,” he said. Tried to say. The words were crushed by the pressure in his throat and came out all broken. “So badly. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” That question again. Why did everyone always want to know why? Why did the answers to the why questions make everything so much worse?

“You were right, Al.” More tears were falling, and he brushed them away this time. “About the video. That it could be bad. It’s…it’s bad.”

“He did this to you because of the video?” Albus sounded too shocked to be angry.

“Reclaiming the family honor,” Scorpius bit out.

“Fucking shit…” Scorpius barely heard it, even with Albus inches away.

“This is bigger than just me, Al. It wouldn’t be solved if they put him away. And also…”

“Also what?”

Scorpius needed extra oxygen for that one. “I don’t know what it would do to my dad. It’s already done so much damage. You should have seen him before.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t be the thing that finally breaks him. I can’t do that to him. He’s the only real family I have. And he loves them. I don’t know how the fuck he manages it but he loves them and I can’t—I can’t do that to him.” He needed to make his voice stop shaking. He stared hard at the ceiling. When another tear fell, he tried to wipe it away, but Albus beat him to it.

“What if he tries something again?” he wanted to know. Practical as ever.

“I told my dad I’m never setting foot in the manor again.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “Scorpius?”

Something in Albus’s tone made him turn his head. Albus’s eyes were in shadow, so Scorpius couldn’t see the green properly. They were just dark. Dark, and unforgiving.

“What?”

“He’s never going to hurt you again,” Albus promised. “I’ll make sure.”

Scorpius breathed out a laugh and looked back at the fake stars. No one really understood how this was supposed to work, did they?

“And how are you going to do that, Al?”

“I’ll figure it out.” There was no hint of a joke in his tone.

Scorpius looked back at his friend. Albus’s brows were drawn together in a frown, and he was looking at Scorpius with something behind his eyes, something Scorpius couldn’t name. And he was too busy drinking in the sight of him to care anyway. Albus’s hair was damp and falling over his forehead, curling a little from the humidity of the shower. The light of the lamp behind his head threw soft shadows over his cheekbones and down his nose, and outlined the boundaries of him in gold. He was so close that Scorpius could see the tiny lines of his mouth where his lips were slightly chapped, count them where they curved over the edge into darkness. The tip of his nose was inches from Scorpius’s own.

Suddenly, acutely, catastrophically, Scorpius wanted to kiss him. The feeling came over him without warning, almost violently, and not for the first time. But he’d never let himself fully think it before. He could picture it in his head. Leaning forward, pressing their lips together, closing his eyes against the heat and the sweetness that was undoubtedly there. No kiss with Albus could ever be anything but, he was sure. He could slide his fingers in that dark, damp hair, curl it around his fingers. He knew it was soft, but he could linger on it in a way he hadn’t before. Revel in it. Scorpius’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, a trapped bird trying to get out. He could do that.

Except that he couldn’t. Lucius would have him killed. That’s what he had said, what he had promised. And Scorpius believed him. And what if he could actually do it? If Scorpius kissed Albus now, if he let everything that had been building inside him out into the open where others could see, that would be enough of a reason for his grandfather. Associating was bad, being best friends was worse. Being more was…he couldn’t come up with a better word than unforgivable. He would be signing Albus’s death warrant as surely as if he floo’ed him right into the Malfoy Manor library.

But what if it didn’t matter? What if Lucius was out to get Albus anyway and nothing Scorpius did made any difference? What if he could kiss Albus right now and not worry that he’d put him in danger? What if he could just kiss him, just to do it, just once?

Albus would stand between him and a threat in a heartbeat. If Scorpius kissed him now, he might be even more determined. And Lucius would flay him alive. Thanks to Scorpius, his grandfather was still free to see whoever he wanted, free to give them gold and promises to do whatever he said. Scorpius had saved his father, yes, and he had saved Albus, but it was only for now. Push the shaky structure even a little and it might crumble and take everything down with it. Dig in its jagged edges and tear as it fell into the abyss. And it might have friends in the abyss.

Might, could, maybe, probably…the uncertainly of it all stabbed through his skull. He knew nothing for sure. He felt unmoored and frantic, and he still wanted to kiss Albus. He needed to look away.

Albus had arranged the stars into the Big Dipper on his ceiling.

He was shifting on the bed beside him. Scorpius stubbornly kept his eyes on the stars. Then something tapped his shoulder, something that crinkled.

Albus was holding out a small, rectangular package, mostly flat, wrapped in brightly colored paper. He held it out to Scorpius.

“What’s this?”

A hint of a smile ghosted across Albus’s face. It was a truly adorable smile. Scorpius tried not to think so. “Your Christmas present.”

“I don’t have yours,” Scorpius said lamely.

“That’s ok.” Albus poked him with the corner of the package again. “Go on, open it.”

Scorpius tore the paper carefully, slipping his finger under the tape so it came off as cleanly as possible. He was glad to have something to do, however small the something was. Peeling back the paper revealed a notebook, a rather small and unassuming one, with a red cover.

“It’s for your lyrics,” Albus said. He reached over and opened the notebook to the first page. “It’s spelled so you can write on it with anything. So you don’t have to carry a pen. See?”

With the tip of his index finger, Albus drew a dot, then another, across from it, and a large, gentle curve underneath. The smiley face grinned at Scorpius from the paper.

Despite himself, despite everything, Scorpius felt his face mirror the simple curve. “Oh, that’s going to be a good song,” he said. “I can tell.”

Albus lightly punched his shoulder.

“Thank you. I love it.”

And then he was staring again. Because Albus was solid and warm and present and got him thoughtful gifts and would keep his secrets, no matter how terrible they were. Scorpius felt a swell of gratefulness for him. He didn’t need an army, like Harry did. He didn’t need his grandparents, like his father did. For right now, Albus would do just fine.

He allowed just a moment to feel powerfully sorry for himself. Today had been awful. Only a singular, monumental tragedy prevented it from being the worst day of his life. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and felt about a million years old.

So when Albus stretched an inviting arm out, he rolled over and allowed him to pull him in towards his chest. Albus squeezed once, tightly, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss into his hair. Scorpius’s breath caught in his throat, heart straining against the bonds he’d put around it. It felt so good, he thought he might die. In an act that was either blessing or curse depending on how you looked at it, Albus let go, plucking the notebook out of Scorpius’s hands to place it back on the bedside table. Scorpius rolled back towards the wall, pulling the covers tight around his shoulders.

“You going to sleep?” Albus asked.

Scorpius nodded.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He knew what the answer should be. It was enough of a risk being here in the first place. Who knew how much Scorpius’s resolve might weaken as the night went on? The safest option would definitely involve sleeping alone. But Scorpius didn’t want to sleep alone. He didn’t want to sleep in a bed that wasn’t his, with nothing but his thoughts and the memory of that horrifying pain to keep him company. Everything else aside, he wanted his best friend.

“No,” he whispered.

Albus turned out the light, and Scorpius closed his eyes. After a moment, he felt a tentative hand brush his ribs. Scorpius let out a shuddering breath. As much as he might want to, he knew didn’t have the strength to push Albus away entirely. Not when he wanted him so close. Not when every second spent in his presence, every bit of space that disappeared between them, relaxed his muscles just a little.

He reached back and grabbed ahold of Albus’s hand, giving it a small tug. Albus responded immediately, sliding his arm around Scorpius’s stomach. There was a slight pressure pushing on his abdomen, and then a warm, solid weight against his back. Scorpius felt every fiber of himself exhale.

“Get some rest, Scor.” He could feel Albus’s words against the back of his neck. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

 _That might be_ , Scorpius thought, burying his face in Albus’s pillow. _But the important part is, I’ve got you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monster of a chapter there, I know. Quite the roller coaster. But did I create an alternate connotation for “always” because I hate Snape? Why yes, yes I did. And that should comfort you, I hope.


	15. An Unexpected Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s kick this ship into high gear, ey?

When he had woken up on Christmas morning, Scorpius wasn’t expecting any presents. He had literally crashed into Albus’s house the night before and many important things had gone up in flames, things he didn’t want to think about but that he was sure would nudge at his brain constantly for a very long time. Certainly, no one in the house on the Cornwall cliffs had expected him, so when he had come down the staircase in the morning and there were packages under the tree with his name on them, he was dumbfounded.

And his father was there, sitting in an armchair in the corner, looking like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years, but present, in one piece, nursing a mug of something hot. Only Scorpius and Draco himself looked surprised to see him there.

Grandma Molly reached Scorpius first, ushering him to a chair and placing an oddly amorphous package in his lap. Scorpius could only blink at her before his brain woke up enough to tell him to open it.

Inside the nest of wrapping paper was a sweater. It was a pleasant grey-blue color that reminded him of a rainy coast, and as he carefully ran the soft wool between his fingers, he noticed that bright, yellowish threads formed an S on the front. Scorpius didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say, really, and as he looked up into Grandma Molly’s smiling face, it was clear he didn’t need to try. He had seen enough of these — saw quite a few around the room, actually — to recognize one when he saw it. He knew the value of what he’d been given, and Grandma Molly knew he knew it.

“It goes with your other present,” Harry had said, sitting down next to him. Scorpius didn’t understand, but presented his wand when Harry asked for it. After placing a charm on it, Harry handed it back.

“That will open the front door of Twelve Grimmauld Place,” Harry explained. “James and Albus will help conjure you up a room in there tomorrow.”

Scorpius glanced up at his father, who was merely watching, a look Scorpius could only describe as relief on his face.

“We’ve been talking,” Harry said, indicating Draco, “and we think it’s probably a little more secure than your dorm at uni, at least for the time being. And we figured you spend enough time there that you probably wouldn’t mind living there.”

Scorpius could barely gasp his thanks. Now, four months later, he could barely believe he’d survived this long.

Living at Grimmauld Place was exactly as he had imagined it, in some ways. Temporary sprucing-up spells (and, of course, colorful duct tape), made the mismatched furniture and concentrated mess of six (or sometimes as many as twelve) university students feel homey and comfortably crowded. Scorpius moved into James’s room just after New Year’s, leaving his own room at uni to gather dust. There was a constant stream of people moving in and out of the house — Hugo leaving for class as Lily came home for lunch, Fred passing through to grab something as Brenna and O.K. showed up for rehearsal — and there were rarely times when Scorpius was forced to be alone with his own thoughts. They threw parties, sometimes, though given Memory Charm’s meteoric rise after the holidays, they had to keep them small to avoid them blowing up into news-making events. There was always food and alcohol in the refrigerator — although the house routinely shut off the refrigerator on its own and made the food go bad — and there were always at least three different kinds of music playing in different parts of the house. They avoided the tapestry room, wrote essays at the enormous dining room table, and did their school readings in the front parlor. There were enough bathrooms for everyone to go at once, but someone was always using the one you wanted when you needed it. Rose and Roxanne practically lived on the roof once it got nice out.

And Albus was everywhere. This was the part Scorpius had not predicted, but that he really should have seen coming. For two students who went to different universities, they saw each other a lot, even before Christmas. Between rehearsal, the odd gig they could squeeze in their school schedules once Harry and Draco determined it safe, and the amount of time Scorpius already spent at Grimmauld Place before living there, Albus was certainly in his line of sight.

So it was bad before, and now it was torturous. Because Scorpius had not seen Albus Potter freshly out of a shower with a towel barely hanging onto his hips since Hogwarts, and Albus was older now and grown into himself in all the most appealing ways. He had also forgotten what it was like to hear Albus’s voice hoarse with sleep first thing in the morning, through the thin barrier of a cracked door when it seemed like only one part of Scorpius’s anatomy was fully awake. The real torture was trying to relieve that pressure later, as quietly and as quickly as possible, while trying with all his might not to think about Albus on the other side of the wall. But he always did anyway. It was always Albus’s lips he imagined, brushing over his mouth, his neck, his chest, ever further downward, Albus’s strong hands gripping him tightly, Albus’s eyes sparkling through his eyelashes…the thing that always pushed him over that edge.

Scorpius felt like a recovering addict, storing up thousands of tiny brushes and glances and peeks around a corner — everyday pains that he lived with hour by hour — the barest shadows that he told himself would be enough, when what he really wanted, what his insides were tearing at themselves to get at, was right within his grasp if he could only reach out and take it. The only difference was that Scorpius had only imagined how good the real thing might be.

But he wasn’t going to find out for real. Not when there were more cameras following them every day, not when he hadn’t seen or spoken to his grandparents out of sheer self-preservation, but also didn’t know what they were doing. Not when he couldn’t consider the prospect without the possibly-irrational, inexplicably powerful feeling that his grandfather could see into his soul from miles and miles away.

One of these days, Scorpius was simply going to go mad, and if Albus didn’t do it, the nightmares would. They came often, too often, left him sweating and shaking and reminded on no uncertain terms what the price of disobeying his grandfather would be.

So that was how he found himself, sitting next to an old clock that informed him it was 3:13 a.m. He was playing chess with himself in one of the parlors that had no portraits anymore. Well, not playing chess, really. He was just absently moving pieces to have something to do. He had at least four hours to wait until someone else would be awake. It was eerily quiet, and Scorpius was terrified and angry. He tapped a queen with a bishop and watched it clatter to the board.

This should not be happening anymore. How pathetic was he, pining after his friend during the daytime and obsessing over the events of a singular evening at night? He wanted to just get over it, to put it behind him, to think about something else for a goddamn moment. He knew people who had seen entire wars, witnessed murders, grown up alone, lost everything, who were fine. Perfectly fucking fine, and living their lives with uninterrupted sleep. And here he was, powerless, trapped under the weight of the House of Malfoy and whatever other bullshit his grandfather had seen fit to dredge up, all the bricks piled on his spine so his ribs cracked and everything bled into his subconscious.

Sometimes he imagined going to the Manor, breaking down the door and demanding to know the answers to all of his questions. How did he make it stop? What kind of power did Lucius really have? How scared should he really be? Not knowing if the assault was coming was worse than the assault itself. Not knowing if he was inviting an assault by doing nothing was worse still.

Nothing was solved. Why was nothing ever solved? It was simply the perpetuation of the same problems, generation after generation.

Scorpius was in a very futile kind of mood.

Albus appeared in the doorway just as he was thinking about decapitating the white king. Speaking of things that wouldn’t leave him alone in the middle of the night…He really was in a bad mood, wasn’t he?

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Albus said with a wry smile.

Scorpius frowned, but he understood. He remembered a night very much like this one, when Albus had been the one stewing in his problems on this couch.

“You could have come stayed with me if you wanted…” Albus trailed off. Scorpius cocked his head to one side, questioning. Wanted what? Albus looked down. “Well, anyway.”

He sat next to Scorpius on the couch while Scorpius turned his words over in his mind. He knew Albus’s door was open to him if he needed it, that Albus would gladly share his bed to help him sleep like he had on Christmas. He bit his lip, then leaned over to rest his head on Albus’s shoulder. Albus’s leaned his head on top, encouraging him to stay there. Scorpius thought about what would happen if he had taken him up on that offer. He could have crawled under the covers and pressed his nose into Albus’s hair. It would have been so unbelievably wonderful.

He sighed heavily. In the meantime, it made his body relax just to be here, close to Albus. It was nice. The world was chaotic. Even his feelings for Albus were inexplicable sometimes, but this? This always had the capacity to be uncomplicated. He wished he could…well, he wasn’t going to think about that. Whatever it was, he couldn’t do it. Just another result of the terrible choice he’d made.

“Rose says she’s scouting locations for the summer,” Albus said. “So we can go on tour. Looks like this whole thing’s really happening.”

“Looks like,” Scorpius agreed. “Dream come true, eh?” He winced. He’d hoped that would come out more convincing. It was, in fact, a dream come true. Seventh year, he could never have imagined that an idea they came up with in a Hogwarts courtyard would be the powerful thing it was now. The video had sparked it, and people wanted to know what they had to say now, were listening to them in all the ways they wanted to communicate it. Or at least, they were publishing it, playing it on the radio, putting it in their pubs and concert halls and stadiums. It was exactly what they’d wanted — more, even — and Scorpius, at times when 3:13 a.m. hadn’t sucked everything good out of the air, was very happy about it.

“Yeah.” Albus seemed to understand where his thoughts were. The look on his face reminded Scorpius of this night’s twin, of when their positions had been reversed.

Scorpius sat up so he could look Albus in the face. “Are you okay with all this? I mean, we’ve hitched ourselves to this hippogriff now.”

Albus nodded. “I am if you are.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Well, it’s our cause. It’s what we do.”

Albus studied the chess board. “Do you think we’ll ever stop?” he asked finally. “That someday we won’t have to fight all this bullshit anymore?” He cast an appraising eye on Scorpius. “Do you even want that to happen?”

Scorpius considered that. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it like that. I mean, I want to be a part of this. On some level I probably need to. It’d drive me mad if I was just sitting still and doing nothing.” Not least of which because it would leave him with much more uninterrupted time to obsess over the curve of Albus’s back and how fascinating his hands were. “It’s our cause,” he said. “No one’s going to fight it if we don’t.”

“That’s true,” Albus allowed. “Must be a lot of pressure though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Having a cause. All those generations pushing down on you. I mean, your family had a cause, and it was the wrong one. So you have to succeed in the right cause, where they failed, right?”

Scorpius wasn’t really sure he wanted to talk about this right now. “It’s also the right thing to do, Albus.” He heard an edge creep into his voice, and knew Albus heard it, too.

“I know that,” Albus assured him. “But you know it’s not just up to you and Brenna to fix the world, right?”

“I know.” Advocacy and revolution the way they’d chosen to do it could be enjoyable. Most of the time it was downright fun. Sometimes, though, it really did feel like if he and Brenna didn’t keep pushing, something would crack down the middle. “What’s your point?”

“Just making sure you still want to be doing this,” Albus said. “That you’re still doing it for you.”

“Who else would I be doing it for?”

Albus gave a little shrug. He didn’t look away from Scorpius’s face. “Your father. Brenna, maybe. Your mum.”

Scorpius played absently with a rook. “It’s not wrong to want to do things for other people.” This was the problem with 3:13a.m. There were no filters on anything.

“And I’m not calling you selfish either. I just…people follow you. And it’s a lot of pressure—“

“You said that.”

“Don’t do that.” Albus’s tone was hard now.

“What?” Scorpius knew exactly what.

“Snap at me. I’m trying to say something.”

Scorpius took the rook off the board and sat back heavily. The crenelations in the top dug into his thumb. “Sorry.”

Albus ran a hand over his face. “I’m just saying, there’s no law that says you have to lead this fight. There never has been. I support you, and I’ll stand behind you whatever you do, but I just think you should make sure you’re doing it because you want to, and not because someone made you feel like you have to. I mean, you’ve established that you’re willing to risk your life —“

“And you’ve established that you’re willing to risk your identity, your self!” Scorpius didn’t see a real difference between the two.

Albus looked away, chewing on his lip. He reached out with a finger, tracing the patterns of the fabric that covered the couch. Scorpius watched the graceful movements of his hand.

“You said it was worth it,” Scorpius reminded him.

“I did.”

“Is it still worth it?”

“Yes.” Albus didn’t even pause to think about it. He turned a clear green gaze back on Scorpius. “Maybe even more now.”

“Because we might actually get somewhere now?” Scorpius asked.

“Yeah.” Albus dropped his eyes back to his fingers on the couch. “Like you said, Scor, it’s the right thing to do.” Scorpius felt his eyes narrow. It wasn’t a lie; he would know if Albus was truly lying. But there was something else, something he was definitely leaving out.

“And?”

“And what?” It was Albus’s turn to be agitated now. Scorpius didn’t want to push him.

“Just making sure you’re following your own advice is all.”

Albus took a beat to consider that, but eventually he nodded. “I am.” This time, Scorpius believed him more.

“What if the whole thing was fixed tomorrow?” Albus asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t have to fight anymore. If fame was nothing. If you had the freedom to just do what you wanted and not worry about it.”

 _Kiss you_ was the first thing to pop into his head. He smothered it, even though Albus had just been describing impossible things anyway. Scorpius didn’t really think about the future much. So much of his life right now was putting one foot in front of the other.

“I guess I’d go on this tour,” he said, “finish uni, get a job.” He made a face. “That part sounds a little boring.”

“Travel the world then,” Albus suggested. “Make it a world tour.”

For the first time in what felt like a long time, Scorpius laughed. “Ok, sure.”

Albus turned towards him on the couch, tucking one foot under himself and hugging his knee. “Where would you go?”

“China.”

Albus laughed. “Why China?”

Scorpius thought that answer would be obvious. “Dragons.”

“My uncle Charlie lives in Romania. They’ve got dragons there.”

Scorpius’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Albus said. “You knew that.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I did.” Scorpius tried to stifle a yawn and failed. “Ok, Romania, China...New Zealand.”

“Mountains,” Albus agreed.

“And if O.K. is to be believed, Maori magic is supposed to be really cool.”

Albus nodded, grinning. “I have heard that.”

“You’re coming with me on this journey, right?”

“Of course!” Albus told him. “I’d follow you anywhere.” The joking lilt of his voice was suddenly gone, and just like that, there was a different quality to the air. Albus looked up quickly, almost nervously, like that wasn’t supposed to slip out. Scorpius tried to keep his face neutral, but his stomach had taken up tingling nervously. A tiny spark of hope and simultaneous dread sprung up in his chest. Something was happening here. He could feel it balancing on a fine edge.

“What are best friends for, right?” It came out a whisper.

Albus was looking at him, in that way he had that meant Scorpius had no choice but to look back. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, swallowed hard, and decided something. Scorpius saw the moment he did it.

“That too,” he said.

Scorpius’s pulse raced under his skin. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Albus said. His mouth twisted wryly. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t already know.”

The curtains were open, spilling moonlight into the room, illuminating one half of Albus’s face and leaving the other half in shadow. Scorpius was struck breathless by how beautiful he was. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, feel everything stand still on the edge of that precipice. It was like a dream where you know something lies beyond the door that you shouldn’t see, but since you’re not awake, your feet keep moving anyway.

“What is?” He whispered it before he could stop himself.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Albus told him.

Scorpius fell off the edge.

“What?” There was only air behind the word.

Albus simply kept his gaze hostage, one eye intense, the other unreadable in the darkness. He knew Scorpius had heard him. The meaning of the words began to sink in. This was so much worse than Scorpius had ever imagined. Associating was bad, being best friends was worse. Being more was unforgivable…There was no word to describe what this was. Albus couldn’t be in love with him. He just couldn’t. Because his heart felt like it was exploding out of sheer shock and joy and it was so much better than Scorpius had ever imagined. Albus couldn’t be in love with him because there was no universe in which that wasn’t the only thing Scorpius wanted to hear. There was no universe where he could ignore that, where he could let that go unanswered.

And what about him? Was he in love with Albus, too? If he had been able to bring himself to consider it — to consider anything close to it — for even a moment, would he have come to that same conclusion? He had flown off the edge of the map and there were no cardinal directions anymore, no stars to navigate. Just Albus sitting on the couch across from him and the sickening sound of his thoughts rattling against his skull.

Albus frowned softly, making Scorpius aware that he had barely even breathed.

“Scorpius—“

And so he didn’t think.

Albus drew in his breath sharply when he kissed him. For a full second, they were frozen. Scorpius’s brain tried to catalogue the sensations — how soft Albus’s lips were on his, the rough sandpaper texture of his jaw underneath his hands, the gentle grip of Albus’s hands around his wrists.

It felt so good.

He couldn’t be doing this.

He needed to shut his brain up, now.

Luckily, Albus did it for him. He let out the breath he’d been holding and surged forward, kissing him back. Scorpius opened his mouth in a gasp and Albus kissed him again, messier, more forceful this time. Scorpius dropped his hands to Albus’s waist, digging his fingers into his sides, and Albus was moving. He made a small noise in the back of his throat and Scorpius wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear it louder.

And then his back hit the armrest and Albus was in his lap, their chests pressed together so Scorpius could feel the warmth through their t-shirts. He wrapped his arms around Albus’s middle and held him tight, pulling them further together, chasing that warmth. Albus sank down fully and Scorpius could feel his groin grind down against his own. He didn’t suppress the groan that tore its way out his throat. He rolled his hips upward towards that point of contact, simply reacting, feeling Albus’s hands slip under his shirt and over his chest. He nipped at Albus’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Albus dragged his nails over his chest.

There was a loud click, and they both jumped. For a moment, they stared at each other, breathing hard. Scorpius’s thoughts began to return in a rush. It had sounded like the front door. But who would be here so late at night?

A creak accompanied the click. It was definitely the front door. Albus pushed off of Scorpius and stood up, looking around the room. It was clear neither of them had a wand down here.

Scorpius got off the couch and took a few wary steps towards the front hall.

A figure appeared, silhouetted in the doorway. Neither of them moved a muscle.

Then the hall light came on and they saw who it was.

“Oh,” Harry said. “You’re up. Had someone already told you?”

Scorpius had to swallow several times to find his voice. “Told us what?”

Harry sighed heavily. “Scorpius,” he said, “you need to get home. You need to talk to your dad.”


	16. The Moment When You Realize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mature content appears in this chapter. Just a heads-up.

The funeral was small. Or at least, Scorpius thought it might be small. He didn’t know how big the funerals of criminals were supposed to be. He thought he recognized a few people — certainly no more than five or six, including himself, his father, and his grandmother — but mostly he avoided looking anyone in the eye. This was easy to do when no one tried to approach him anyway. It was the only easy thing about being there.

He stood beside his father at the front of the assembled group. Draco’s eyes were misty, but his jaw was tight. Scorpius wanted to put an arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t know who around them might take it as a sign of weakness. This was a Malfoy gathering, after all. Narcissa had the same look on her face, but she’d reached out to hold onto Draco’s hand a while ago and Scorpius wasn’t sure if she’d let go yet. Maybe she didn’t care about image as much today.

The funerary official began to speak, but Scorpius tuned him out, staring at the coffin. It was ostentatious and dark in color, to the shock and amazement of absolutely no one. It shone dully in the evening gloom — why did it always seem gloomy on this hill no matter the weather? The unreality of the situation hit him, or rather, reality failed to hit him, though he wanted it to. Lucius was dead, but somehow, he didn’t feel any better than he had last night when he had heard his father say the words. He’d died in his bed, apparently. More peaceful than he probably had ever been in life. Scorpius clenched his jaw hard. He wished it had been slower and more painful than that. If that made him a terrible person, so be it. At least he was gone.

All Scorpius had to do now was wait until it truly felt like it.

Brenna was here, somewhere. He didn’t know why she thought she had to attend — he wasn’t exactly mourning, was he? — but all the same, he was glad. None of the others could safely show their faces here; he couldn’t imagine O.K. or Hugo or Rose or —

Scorpius pushed away the thought and the images in his brain that came with it: moonlit shadows, bright eyes, soft lips forming the words “in love with you.”

No. He wouldn’t bring Albus here, even in his thoughts. That moment was for him alone, to cradle between his palms and keep far away from this place. It didn’t belong here. Albus didn’t belong here. Then again, neither did Brenna, and neither did Scorpius, but parts of this place still had barbs that stuck in the two of them.

The sun was completing its descent over the horizon, sending long shadows in the shape of the mansion shooting out larger than life across the grass. They covered Scorpius’s own shadow, making his indistinguishable from that of the house, swallowed up by the darkness inside. Scorpius closed his eyes tight, but it reached him anyway.

_The might of this family is a powerful thing, Scorpius, more powerful than you know. Do not make the mistake of thinking that the walls of this house at all impede that might._

Scorpius pleaded with his own mind to shut up. Lucius was dead. He couldn’t reach Albus now, any more than he could reach him before. But then again, Scorpius had believed that Albus’s life was in jeopardy anyway. He hadn’t even questioned the instinct to take precautions against a man who couldn’t leave his house. What could Lucius possibly have done? Scorpius began to suspect that he’d been unbelievably stupid. All this dancing around Albus and denying himself what he wanted for months, and Lucius apparently couldn’t even be bothered to try and harm Albus himself. Have him killed, he had said. I’m going to _have_ him killed.

Scorpius’s brain stalled on those words.

The funerary official waved his wand and Lucius’s grave burst into flames, muffling the strangled gasp that tore out of Scorpius’s throat.

He would have him killed. Not at Lucius’s hands but at someone else’s.

_I never had any hope for your mother._

Someone easily manipulated, caught off-guard by an invitation under false pretenses. Someone slapped across the face with an _Imperio_ and taught a spell that didn’t exist outside of Astoria Malfoy’s case file and the heads of those who had known Severus Snape.

_They knew there was no one left alive who knew the counter-curse._

Someone who wouldn’t live to tell the tale.

_The perpetrator couldn’t exactly give us a statement after he’d jumped off the nearest tall building._

Not Lucius, but an extension of him. The long arm of the Malfoy family reaching past the bars of a cage to gauge bloody trenches through those who opposed it.

_You have no idea what I am capable of._

Now, at last, Scorpius had an idea.

A hand brushed the back of his neck and he jumped, heart leaping into his throat. He looked up with wide, horror-filled eyes. Draco blinked, surprised and then concerned.

“Are you all right?”

Scorpius didn’t know what would happen if he opened his mouth. He couldn’t. He forced air into his lungs through his nose instead.

“I’ve got him.” Brenna. She slid a hand around Scorpius’s waist and placed the other on his chest. Draco hesitated, but nodded, following his mother and the rest of the mourners towards the house.

The house. Scorpius could not go in that house. He stumbled back a step out of Brenna’s arms, staring at nothing.

If the walls of Malfoy Manor couldn’t hold Lucius’s rage, who said that death could stop it? Who said that Lucius didn’t still have power from six feet under? He could have left instructions, could have made an arrangement before he died. A dying man had nothing to lose.

“Scor?”

Which one of the people at this funeral was it? Who out of these former terrorists had been told to kill the beautiful musician he loved? Which one of them would try to shatter Scorpius’s life again with that same dead spell? Was it that man walking next to his father? That woman, lingering at the back of the group? How could he warn Albus? Twelve Grimmauld Place was hidden and well-protected, but if Scorpius tried to go there, someone could follow him.

“Scorpius!”

He nodded mutely. She was right. Brenna was right. It could be nothing. The danger could be over. Lucius could have been caught unawares by his own death and failed to prepare. Or not had the capacity in the first place. It could just be that Scorpius was paranoid and delusional and the Cruciatus Curse shook something permanently loose in his brain. It could be fine. Everything could be fine. He could go home to Grimmauld Place and explain it all and pick up right where he left off. It was possible.

It was a dilemma so familiar by now that it had carved its way into Scorpius’s bones. His lungs were too big for his ribcage. His head spun.

What if he did go home and explain it to Albus? He wanted to see him so badly. But what if he put the messy, gory, tarnished pieces of this whole situation in Albus’s lap and he decided that Scorpius just wasn’t worth the trouble? That house, the Malfoy family legacy, the memories he tried to swallow down but that just wouldn’t leave him alone — those things were fucked up, dirty, diseased. Albus couldn’t want all of that. He couldn’t love all of that. He had fought to escape it, tried to leave behind the dark of 1998 and 1981 and Scorpius was the reason he had stopped trying. What if he decided that this was the one thing that made it all too much?

He desperately wanted to talk to Albus, wanted to do all kinds of beautiful and sweet and unspeakable things to Albus. But what if after all of this, they still weren’t safe? What if—

“ _Scorpius_!”

He gasped, gaping at Brenna. He felt unsteady on his feet, even with Brenna’s hands digging bruises into his biceps.

“I need to get out of here.”

 

 

 

 

Scorpius been to Brenna’s flat only a few times before. Grimmauld Place was bigger, and she was the only one of their group besides O.K. who didn’t live there anyway. It was a cozy, trendy studio that O.K. said made him feel like he was on a reality show. All Scorpius knew was that he didn’t have to walk very many steps to sit heavily on a kitchen stool. He tucked his feet around the bottom to ground himself and ran a hand through his hair for the fiftieth time, then sighed shakily. Brenna, who had been watching him with concern etching shadows into her face since she had closed the door behind them, crossed the room and began to fill a glass with water from the sink. When she was halfway around the island, he managed to speak.

“I think he had my mother killed.”

Brenna froze. Very slowly, she placed the glass down.

“Your grandfather?”

Scorpius nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty fucking sure.” His voice sounded wrecked, even to his own ears.

“Merlin,” Brenna whispered. “Does your dad know?”

“I don’t think so.”

Scorpius huffed out a despairing breath and shook his head at the insanity of it all. With shaking hands, he began to claw at his tie. Brenna rushed into motion, stilling his hands with her own. Slowly and gently, she removed the thin fabric from around his neck. Scorpius undid the top two buttons so he could breathe easier, but it didn’t really help. He looked up at her, a solid port in the hurricane raging in his skull, and let her embrace him.

“I’m so sorry, Scor.”

Scorpius knew there was evil in his blood, now more than ever. That was what it meant to be Death Eater Spawn. All these years later, and finally, the nickname fit. It meant a war against your own past, blocking the sword passed down from your ancestors that had turned to gut you. That was whah he and Brenna and Jason and Darianelle could never explain to anyone else, but never had to explain to each other. Brenna, with her strength and spark and conviction and compassion, parried that sword every day, flushed out that evil in her blood. Most days, Scorpius believed he was doing that too. Right now, he felt like he’d been run through, like what ran through his veins today was acidic and corrosive.

He clung to her, burying his face in the place where her neck met her shoulder. Brenna simply held him and let him breathe, rubbing a hand over his back. She always smelled like her shampoo, even long after she’d washed her hair. She was stronger than him, always had been. Even her pulse was steady and true where he pressed his lips to it.

Brenna’s hands stilled. Scorpius placed another kiss higher up on her neck.

She pulled away to look at him, one palm tilting his face up to look her in the eye.

“Scorpius,” she said deliberately. “You’re in love with Albus.”

Scorpius grimaced. There was no point in denying it anymore, not even to himself.

“I know,” he said. “I know that.”

Brenna looked at him for a long time, studying him as if trying to commit his irises to memory. He knew there was nothing but dark brown and stripped-down need to see there.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

She kissed him slowly, but purposefully. No mistaking what it was. Scorpius pulled her in gently by her waist, feeling her hips brush against his inner thighs. She slid her arms around his shoulders, threading her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. It was enough encouragement for him to keep going, to drag his hands down her back and sides to squeeze her hips tight, but she didn’t melt against him. She stayed strong, impenetrable, moving only to kick her shoes off, a solid wall against which Scorpius could throw his anger, his fear, his uncertainty.

Brenna pulled her hands away, and Scorpius leaned back, waiting. She nodded, reaching over her back. He heard the sound of a zipper.

He stood up, forcing Brenna backward a step, shrugging off his suit jacket and placing it over the stool. When he looked back up, Brenna had turned away from him. Her dress was unzipped a few inches down her back, her hair held to the side. Faced with a pause in motion, sharp thoughts began to roil under the surface. But Brenna looked over her shoulder at Scorpius, steady and sure.

As he kissed his way up the side of her neck, everything went quiet again. He brushed more hair out of his way and Brenna’s head fell backward, a breathy moan escaping her lips as he dragged the zipper down till it didn’t go any further.

He slid his hands inside the dress and pulled her against him. The brush of her body against his groin was delicious. He felt his consciousness rush there, abandoning other things he didn’t want it to dwell on.

Brenna’s dress was in dark pool on the floor now, but she didn’t move away, turning her head instead to capture his mouth with her own. Her tongue slid past his lips and he responded in kind, cupping her breasts in his hands and massaging gently.

Brenna made quick work of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. He pulled her back to him, kissing her hard, enjoying the feel of skin on skin as they were pressed together from chest to knee. He slid his hands over her ass and squeezed, and Brenna groaned against his mouth, tugging on his hair. He fixated on the reaction, how it was different from when he’d touched her breasts, kissed her neck, licked into her mouth.

He went back to her neck, nipping softly. Brenna began to undo his belt buckle, but didn’t make the sound he expected her to. He tried again, lips barely brushing as he dragged them from collarbone to ear. There was the sound he was aiming for.

Brenna slid a hand into his trousers, and he nearly forgot what he was doing. She pressed the heel of her hand along his length, squeezing the head through the fabric of his underwear. Scorpius groaned, tilting her chin with his hand to reach the spot just under her jaw.

And then Brenna pulled away, placing her hands on Scorpius’s neck. Her lips looked red and throughly kissed and her neck was splotched with color where his face had rubbed against it and her hair was even more unruly than usual where he’d run his hands through it. They were both breathing hard. Scorpius couldn’t help but glance down at the elegant curves of her body. He would be a fool to deny how attractive she was. Scorpius knew she had a spine of steel, but she looked it, too.

She was studying him now. This was a turning point, but he couldn’t tell if she was giving him a chance to back out or taking it herself.

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked.

He let himself consider that just long enough to come up with the answer. He nodded. “Please.”

Brenna reached for her bag, which she’d dropped on the floor when they came in, and pulled out her wand. Scorpius took off his shoes and socks.

“Come on, then,” she said.

She backed up a few paced towards the unmade bed, watching him push his trousers over his hips. His belt made a dull crack when it hit the floor, setting off an echo in Scorpius’s head that he didn’t like. Fear slipped in through the fractures.

He surged forward and kissed Brenna soundly, lifting her off the ground. Her legs wrapped automatically around his back, making a hot curl of desire open in his belly.

His knees hit the bed and he lowered her onto her back, kissing his way down her chest and stomach. Brenna squirmed underneath him. He pulled her underwear off and dropped it by his feet, planting a kiss by her knee. He removed the rest of his own clothes next as Brenna scooted backwards towards the middle of the bed.

He reached her within another moment and pressed his body against hers, pulled tighter by her arms and legs holding him close. Her smell and her hair were everywhere. He brushed some out of her face as he kissed her, leaning on his elbow so he could reach downward with his other hand. He wanted to make this good for her, he decided. He would focus on that. He ran his fingertips down her chest, lingering over her breasts, then replaced his fingers with his tongue, swirling it around one nipple, then the other, then placing a soft kiss on her sternum. His hand moved up her thigh, letting his thumb tease close. Brenna hummed appreciatively and ran her nails over his shoulder blades.

Brenna slid a hand down his stomach, reaching for his cock. Her fingers wrapped around him and began to move in long, steady strokes, but Scorpius refused to lose himself in the sensation. He reached between Brenna’s legs, dragging a finger through her slick folds before he settled on the spot he was looking for. Brenna gasped and arched her back, squeezing Scorpius’s cock tighter. Scorpius let out a hiss through his teeth, massaging Brenna’s clit with the pad of his thumb. Her breath came faster, her other hand tugging on Scorpius’s hair as she worked him faster.

“Bren,” he groaned.

Brenna seemed to understand his meaning and took her hands off him to reach for her wand. Scorpius rose up on his knees, and she pointed the wand at his erection, whispering a spell and causing a familiar tingling sensation which made the muscles of his legs spasm.

He pushed inside her slowly, looking down at the tense muscles of Brenna’s stomach, cataloguing the sensation of it and biting down another groan. Brenna pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he took that as his signal to move.

Brenna’s arms and wrapped around him tightly, her legs encouraging his hips forward. He lost himself in the motion, in the pressure slowly building within him, the taste of her skin and the pleasurable feeling of it all as he thrust in again and again. He could feel the strength of her arms as she held him close, caging him in and keeping everything else out. Brenna’s breathing became erratic and heavy and he kept going, sliding a hand back to where he guessed she wanted it. She held her breath for a few seconds and then let it out in hard pants, digging her nails into his back. He kissed her again, lingering and messy.

His orgasm snuck up on him, and his mind went blissfully blank as he buried his face in Brenna’s neck, shutting his eyes tight and letting it all wash over him.

He became aware of Brenna’s lips on his shoulder and pulled away, raising himself up on his hands to look at her. She smiled a languid, reassuring smile at him, brushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

He kissed her cheek gently, hoping that it was enough to convey his thanks. Brenna nodded, and he laid down on his side, holding out an arm so she could rest her head on his chest. Scorpius studied the patterns that the streetlights made on the ceiling through Brenna’s windows, focusing on the way his breath flowed in and out of his chest.

“You can sleep if you want,” Brenna said quietly.

Scorpius nodded. He was tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a few minutes.

 

 

When he opened them again, Brenna was no longer at his side, and there was sunlight streaming in through the windows.


	17. Narcissa

Scorpius sat up on his elbow and scrubbed a hand over his face. He could hear kitchen sounds from around the corner in the wall, meaning that Brenna was still here. For a moment, he flopped back down on the pillow, taking inventory of himself.

The sunlight made things feel better than they had in the dark, that much he was sure of. Not by a lot, but by enough that he knew he could and would get out of bed today. Lucius was still dead, and Albus had a final paper due next week for one of his classes, meaning he likely wouldn’t leave Grimmauld Place until the end of the weekend. That bought him some time to think, to formulate a plan, to find out whether his paranoia was justified and how to do something about it.

His heart clenched at the thought of Albus, and he let himself relive their kiss for a moment, eyes fluttering closed as he sighed. All he wanted was to see him, to run his fingers through his soft hair and over the lovely planes of his face and feel that he was real and whole and safe. But there were things that had to be solved first. The rough tangle of emotion sitting at the pit of Scorpius’s stomach would have to be teased or blown apart later.

He sat up and pulled off the covers, flushing in embarrassment when he realized that he still wasn’t wearing any clothes. He had fallen asleep immediately, hadn’t he? and slept for… — he checked the clock on Brenna’s bedside table — twelve hours. Brilliant. Brenna probably thought he was being a monumental prat. Unease unfurled in his stomach as he quickly pulled on his underwear. Had he used her? Had he damaged their friendship in an effort to make himself feel better? Had she said yes strongly enough? He was definitely a certifiable mess. He wanted more clothes for this conversation, but they were across the room, and he’d have to cross Brenna’s line of sight to get them.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He took a breath to steady himself and walked out of the bedroom alcove till he could see Brenna at the kitchen counter. She was leaning against it, ostensibly waiting for tea to brew, hair up in a fluffy ponytail and fully dressed. She looked up at Scorpius’s approach and shot him a more reassuring smile than he thought he would get.

“Morning,” she said mildly. “Tea’s coming.” Scorpius studied her face, looking for disappointment or anger or revulsion, but Brenna only looked concerned. He turned away to grab his trousers, which Brenna had left on one of the island stools, folded but not neatly. Very Brenna.

“There’s more clothes in that bag,” Brenna told him, pointing at a small duffel on the floor near the door. “I sent a note to your dad telling him you were all right and that you were here. He sent those back.”

Scorpius crossed the room and dug through the bag. He should have contacted his father last night. Where the hell was his mind? He pulled a pair of jeans out of the bag and put them on. Once he felt his ass appropriately covered, he turned back to Brenna.

“Thank you.” It was for more than the note to his dad, and she knew it.

“Of course.” There was a pause as Scorpius pulled on a t-shirt and wondered what to say next.

“So did I lie to your dad, Scorpius, or are you really okay?”

Scorpius looked up. “Afraid you did,” he said. “But…” He swallowed hard. “You help.”

“It’s a good start.” She said after a beat. She sounded earnest about it.

The tea kettle whistled, and Brenna turned back to the stove. They made and ate breakfast in comfortable silence, each watching the other for signs of acute distress. Scorpius did the dishes by hand, scrubbing soap over them and watching the suds slide off under the faucet. He knew he was still distracting himself, just as he had done last night, just as he had done since Christmas, staying busy, filling his head with something else, one tiny task after another. He was getting very good at it at this point.

 

 

 

 

He stayed at Brenna’s for almost a week, leaving the apartment only to attend school, doing his work and watching Netflix in the evenings (He was surprised Brenna had a laptop, but apparently Muggle Studies seminars required one.) and switching off doing the dishes. He heard nothing more from his father, or from Albus; he suspected they were giving him space, which was just as well, since he still didn’t know how to face either of them.

He and Brenna didn’t speak much, and when they did, they kept their topics light. Brenna seemed to understand that Scorpius would say something when he was ready, but he knew he was stalling rather than coming up with solutions. He felt like a coward for it, and it did nothing to improve his mood.

He tried not to be burdensome for her, staying out of her way as much as possible and checking in on her well-being often enough that she told him to stop fucking asking her that, Scorpius! They slept curled up against each other, but it never went further than that. In any other circumstances, it would be kind of nice.

It was on day six that Brenna finally pushed Scorpius into motion.

“Hey.” Brenna was seated at the island, leaning her elbows on the counter. She sighed and scratched at the inside of her wrist. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to think about it, but we should talk about what you said when you got here. About your grandfather.”

Scorpius turned off the faucet and dried his hands slowly.

“I know you, Scor,” Brenna said. “It’s going to eat at you till you get to the bottom of it. Till you know the truth.”

 _Welcome to my life for the last four months_ , Scorpius thought. But he could see in Brenna’s eyes that she already knew it was eating at him, that his insides had been disintegrating for what seemed like forever. He wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t made him fess up before now, though. She could be a master of patience, Brenna could, and it was usually Scorpius’s job to call her out on something like this, not the other way around. Brenna confronted her enemies as easily as breathing, but it took more to get her to confront her friends.

She was right, though, about his need to get answers. He’d been living in an uncertain limbo for too long, like lowering himself into a dark hole slowly and fearfully, only to fall suddenly and discover that the ground was much closer and rockier than he had imagined. A few months ago, a few years ago, he might have said he didn’t want to know, but things were different now. He was so tired of not knowing.

“Have you got any paper?” he asked. “I need to write to my grandmother.”

 

 

 

 

Scorpius hoisted the duffel on his shoulder as Brenna locked the door behind them.

“Where are you meeting her?” Brenna asked.

“Some restaurant in Central London,” he replied. “She promises we won’t be overheard, and I believe her.”

Brenna glanced back at him from three steps lower.

“Whatever she says, we’re discussing family secrets,” Scorpius explained. “She wanted to meet at the Manor, but I told her no. I trust her to be secretive more than I trust my sanity to stay intact in that house.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Brenna allowed.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Brenna pushed open the door, stepping out onto the front stoop of the building.

“Well, I’m off to class, so I’ll see you soon,” she said. “Let me know how it goes.” She offered him a smile, fidgeting with the hem of her Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. “It’s been nice having you here, everything else aside.”

Scorpius palmed the back of his neck and nodded. Brenna took that as her cue to leave, squeezing Scorpius’s arm affectionately before turning away. He caught her elbow.

“Brenna.” He cleared his throat. “I’m—“ He had to look at her for this, didn’t he? “I’m sorry for using you like that. When I got here. I had no right to—“

“Scorpius Malfoy.” Brenna gripped his shoulders hard. “You listen to me. You did not use me. You needed me, and I was there. Okay?”

A weight the size of the Gringott’s bank lifted off Scorpius’s chest. He should have said something days ago.

“I’m always here if you need me. Believe that, will you?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly till he nodded, then smiled, reaching up a hand to touch his cheek. He leaned down then, pressing his lips to hers, the last kiss like that he’d ever give her.

Somewhere close by where they couldn’t hear it, a shutter clicked.

“Hey listen,” she said. “When you’ve got all your answers, go talk to Albus, ey? Before you explode?” She pointed a warning finger at him as she went down the stairs and around the corner alley.

Within a few moments, he heard the tell-tale snap of Apparating. He squared his shoulders, squinting in the evening sun. Time to go find those answers.

 

 

 

 

 

Narcissa sat up very straight in her chair, but she leaned forward to grasp Scorpius’s hand as soon as he sat down across from her.

“It’s nice to see you,” she said. “I never see you anymore.”

Scorpius snatched his hand back. He never doubted that his grandmother loved him, though he couldn’t say the same for his grandfather alive or dead. But Narcissa’s love, while genuine, always felt too…adhesive. Not conditional, exactly, but like he would lose something in accepting it completely. Maybe that explained his father.

“I don’t plan on making more exceptions to the rule,” Scorpius told her. He knew he was being cruel, but he was not interested in being nice today. Narcissa had survived two wars and two major rounds of mass incarceration by observing, assessing, and keeping her mouth shut. She was still as powerful as she was because information was her weapon, and she hoarded it, let others get hurt while she stayed safe in silence and invisibility. She counted on people underestimating her, and Scorpius was done doing that. She wasn’t leaving this spelled restaurant table without giving him what he wanted. So why should he hide anything about the way he felt or what he thought of her?

Narcissa leaned back in her chair. The flicker of hope that had come into her face when Scorpius sat down was replaced by the cool mask of indifference she wore for most of her life. She was disappointed, maybe even a little bereft, but she was not surprised. She wrapped her fingers around the stem of her wine glass and sipped its contents slowly. She was so calm, so unruffled, and Scorpius was coming apart at the seams. He was suddenly overwhelmingly angry with her.

“Harry Potter says you lied once to save his life,” he began. “I don’t know which I believe less, that you saved Harry Potter or that you told an outright lie.”

Narcissa’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. Scorpius perceived it.

“And why is that?”

“Because you don’t lie. Maybe you can’t. Your modus operandi is the sin of omission. You don’t lie so much as fail to tell the whole truth.” He leaned across the table, fighting the desperation rising in his throat. “I need you to tell me the whole truth today. You have to tell me the whole truth.”

Narcissa raised her chin imperiously. “It’s not very prudent to insult someone who possesses something you need, Scorpius. Bad manners at the very least. Next time you should try asking nicely.”

Scorpius gave her a baleful stare. “Next time, I’ll remember that. Did Grandfather have my mother killed?”

Narcissa didn’t move a muscle. She had expected that question. And from the looks of it, she knew the answer, too.

“Yes.”

Scorpius let out a harsh breath. It was one thing to suspect, one thing to imagine and dread, quite another to hear it confirmed so flatly. Snatches of memory rearranged themselves in his head, formed new connections and split apart and fit together in new ways. The picture was more complete than ever, and Scorpius almost wished he had never seen it. All of a sudden, the question seemed pointless to have asked in the first place. What good was it to know now, to reveal the enemy hidden in plain sight when Scorpius could no longer harm him back? It might be an answer, one he had longed for since he was thirteen years old, but it only served to make him feel worse.

“It wasn’t his intention,” Narcissa explained. “Why kill a dying woman? He wanted to scare her, send her a message so that she would stay in line and stop telling you horrible things about us.”

Scorpius ground his teeth together. His mother had never lied to him. Everything she had told him about his grandparents and his family had been confirmed later by Harry Potter, Scorpius’s school curriculum, and his father. Whatever horrible things Narcissa was referring to, she and Lucius had done them.

“He probably learned the spell from Draco. He had survived it once. Lucius thought Harry Potter knew the counter-curse.”

“No one alive knows it,” Scorpius bit out.

“He called in a favor,” Narcissa continued, as if Scorpius hadn’t spoken.

“The _whole truth_ , grandmother,” he growled.

“He called in a favor,” she repeated sharply. She continued in a more measured tone. “He asked a friend to bring someone to him to carry it out.” Someone Lucius considered disposable, obviously. “He predicted that Potter would swoop in and save the day, but for once, Potter disappointed us all. By the time they figured out what was going on it was too late to save her.”

Scorpius’s throat felt tight. He would not cry here.

“You didn’t stop him?”

“I tried.”

“But you knew.”

“Yes.”

“Why—“ Scorpius’s hands had clenched into fists under the table. His mind was racing, and a suspicion was beginning to build within him that seemed more plausible by the second. He fought his desire to raise his voice. “There was an investigation. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I have done many hard things to protect your father,” Narcissa said severely. “I was not about to stop then.” She took a sip from her wine glass.

Scorpius couldn’t prevent a derisive huff from escaping. If his grandmother had really wanted to protect her son, she should have stopped her psychotic husband from killing Scorpius’s mother and breaking him. Either she had been too naive to see what Lucius was doing or she hadn’t cared if Astoria died. Either way, Scorpius hated her.

So he let the suspicion fly with deadly aim.

“Did you know what he was planning to do to me at Christmas?”

Narcissa’s glass froze. Scorpius was struck by the shocking indication that he might have actually caught her off guard. But if that was true, she recovered quickly. She watched a waiter magically fail to see the table for a moment before placing her glass back on the table. She met his eyes steadily over the the table.

“Lucius knew he was dying. I knew he wanted to go to Azkaban, to either reclaim what he’d lost or die there.”

Narcissa broke off then, gazing back out into the restaurant.

“On some level, it might have been a suicide mission.” It sounded like that hadn’t occurred to her before. Something about her voice was different when she spoke, and it took a second before Scorpius recognized it. For the first time, she’d let pain ring through it.

“I told your father all this afterwards,” she continued in the same tone. She looked back at Scorpius, and he could see the pain in her eyes now, see how hard she was fighting. Whether she was fighting to show it to him or to keep him from seeing it he didn’t know, but he had never seen anything like it. “All Lucius had to do was break house arrest. I thought that was what he would do. I never imagined he would hurt you, his own grandson.”

Scorpius blanched. It was so close to what his father had said. The two of them were so blind, too blind to see what was right in front of them, too blind to see the insanity and the evil that had been building for years. Scorpius prayed it wasn’t genetic. It caused the both of them so much heartbreak, not to mention the damage it had done to him.

He sucked in a breath, gathering strength. He had already guessed what Narcissa had told him so far. There was still one place he needed her to shed light.

“I have one final question. It’s the most important,” he warned, “so I need—“

“—the whole truth,” Narcissa snapped. “I know, Scorpius.” She brought her voice back down. “You have it.”

He’d never said it out loud. For a single, terrifying moment, he didn’t think he could do it. But he had to. For Albus, he had to.

“On Christmas, he said he would —“ He clenched his jaw against the rising tide of emotion. “If I didn’t stay away from Albus, he said he would have him killed.”

Of course, Lucius hadn’t done that, and Scorpius still didn’t know why that was.

“Is it possible,” Scorpius went on, “that he could have had some kind of plan, left instructions for someone that if he died, they would kill Albus?”

Narcissa considered this for a moment. Was she seriously not going to tell him? She had promised the whole truth! He planted his hands on the table to stand up. If she wouldn’t tell him, there had to be someone who—

“It’s more than possible. He had one.”

Scorpius’s muscles all tensed at once and his mind reeled, blind with panic. It was true. He’d been right. He needed to get out of here right now and find Albus. He had been wasting time for a week, for months, trying to decide whether the threat was real or not when all this time the knife had been poised to strike. What the fuck was wrong with him? What could he do now? What if he was already too late? And why was Narcissa sitting like she’d turned to stone?

“Had?”

“It is no longer in place,” Narcissa said firmly. “I’ve put a stop to it.”

“How can you be so sure?” he demanded. She was going to have to do a lot better than that.

“Because the person to whom he gave those instructions was me.”

Scorpius’s mind went blank. He gasped for air and found very little around him. He fought to make sense of what she was telling him, why she was telling it to him, what it all meant. Narcissa looked disapproving.

“You needn’t worry,” she told him. “Albus is perfectly safe. I have no intention of harming him.”

Scorpius wet his dry lips with his tongue, trying to force himself to be calm. So his grandmother had not agreed to do what she had been ordered to do. If his father’s stories were to be believed, it wasn’t the first time. But that didn’t mean his problems were over.

“He couldn’t have given similar instructions to anyone else?” he pressed.

“No.”

He heard the nervous, disbelieving laugh without realizing it came from his own mouth. “Again, how are you so sure about that?”

“Because he had no allies,” Narcissa said shortly. “He had no other options.”

“What about those people at the funeral?”

“All there as a favor to me.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I am not your grandfather, Scorpius,” Narcissa spat. For the first time, she leaned towards him over the table. “I do not make sloppy plans. I do not have any loose ends.”

“Why did he trust you, then?” Scorpius did not care how loud his voice was rising. The whole restaurant was bewitched not to hear him anyway. “He didn’t tell you about any of his other plans.”

“Because I told him I would do it and convinced him it was true.”

Scorpius’s head was spinning. “But you just said you wouldn’t hurt him!“

Narcissa drew herself up imposingly. It was a look that could level a room, but Scorpius couldn’t afford to back down from it. Not with so much on the line. When she spoke, it was with a calm as eerie and rigid as a frozen pond.

“You’ve misjudged me in one very crucial way,” she said. “When it is important, when my family is at stake, I can, and I _will_ , lie. Through my very teeth.”

Scorpius felt his mouth drop open. Narcissa finished her wine, looking just as serene as when Scorpius had walked in the door.

“I will need you to tell all of this to your father,” she drawled.

It took him several tries to speak. “Why can’t you tell him?”

“Because I’m leaving,” she replied. She was gathering up her bag and coat. “I am going to France. I don’t plan on coming back to England, and I rather don’t want to be found for a while.”

Scorpius gaped at her. “You’re not going to say goodbye to him?”

His grandmother stood in a fluid motion that reminded Scorpius of the feline grace of Quaffle the kneazle. “I trust you will take good care of him in my absence.”

He guessed that was a no. But he knew what to tell her next.

“I will.”

Narcissa stood over his chair, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair off his forehead. People said he looked like her. Scorpius had never known how to feel about that.

“I know what you must think of me, Scorpius,” she said, “but everything I have ever done was for the sake of this family. And not for the Malfoy clan, or even the Black clan. For our family. I love your father, and I love you, too. And that is the whole truth.”

With that, she brushed a light touch of her fingertips over his cheek, and was gone.

Scorpius’s back hit the wood of his chair.

It took him a long time to realize that the waiter was trying to get his attention. He looked up, dazed.

“Would you like to order something to eat, sir?” the man asked. “Or are you waiting for someone?”

Scorpius glanced at the empty seat across from him.

“No,” he said. “No, I…I think I’ve lost my appetite.”


	18. Return to Grimmauld Place

Scorpius paused at the front door of Number Twelve, gathering strength. Today was the day. He didn’t want to give himself any more time to lose his nerve. He had spent the night in his father’s house, paralyzed by shock and relief. His mind was racing with what he had learned, how drastically everything had changed and stayed the same over the course of one conversation. He had let everything run wild around his brain for hours, thinking himself into circles.

He needed to talk to Albus. Scorpius had let what he’d said in the Grimmauld Place parlor go unanswered, or at least, not properly answered. Words were supposed to be Scorpius’s strong suit, what he brought to the table, so he had to use them, and use them correctly. Because he was positively mad about Albus, deeply and totally head-over-heels for him, and the words with which he said that had to be perfect. He couldn’t just improvise them or approximate them. He had the feeling they’d just boil down to eight letters anyway.

But then there was the other bit to tell him. The answer to the question of why he had done nothing about it for so long, why he had been antsy and paranoid and avoiding him for the last week. The words to explain that were even more difficult for him to come by, and he had tossed and turned the night before wondering about the nature of them, how much he should say and what he might want to continue to hide. It was not something he could figure out quickly or around anyone else.

Plus, he had told Draco what his grandmother had said. He didn’t have strength for much after that.

The lock clicked under his wand and admitted him into the hallway. No one was in the kitchen or the front parlor, which was kind of odd. Maybe it wasn’t likely to be a full house today. Albus might even still be asleep. He was king of the fourteen-hour slumber. Scorpius called a tentative hello.

No one answered.

“Hello?”

“We’re in here!” came Rose’s voice from the living room. Scorpius let his feet drag a little. Was there something odd about her voice? Probably just his nerves on unnecessarily high alert.

Rose and Hugo were on the couch, and Fred was standing over the coffee table, mug in hand. Albus slouched in the armchair, reading a magazine, though Scorpius couldn’t see which one.

“Hey,” Scorpius said to the room at large. He sounded like an idiot. He fidgeted, wondering how he could get Rose and Fred out of the room so he could talk to Albus alone, but the words he had spent all night rehearsing and writing down and crossing out and tossing in the fireplace and rewriting again did not include the “can we talk” part. It also didn’t include a welcome that seemed a little subdued for someone who had been missing in action for a week.

“Hey,” Fred responded. He exchanged a glance with Rose before adding “When were you planning on telling us?”

Scorpius faltered, tearing his eyes away from Albus, who was still looking at the magazine. What the hell was going on today? “Telling you what?”

“About this,” Albus countered suddenly, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table. It made an accusatory hiss when it hit the wood. Scorpius registered the picture splashed across the page, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

It was the front of Brenna’s building. Scorpius watched himself step through the doorway, watched Brenna reach up to touch his face. He watched himself kiss her. She was wearing the Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. The description under the picture listed the date and the hour, as well as a veiled speculation about what might have happened while they were still inside.

Scorpius could only stare at the page and feel all the blood slowly drain out of his face. This was not the way this was supposed to go.

Albus was clearly fighting to keep his face composed, staring at Scorpius like he might see through him to the rotten core beneath. Scorpius didn’t know what was going on on his own face, but Albus evidently recognized something.

“So it’s true,” he whispered, voice hoarse and tightly controlled. “All of it’s true.”

Scorpius could only stand there, frozen into inhuman stillness by guilt and confusion. Albus remained only a moment longer, hurt and betrayal marking the planes of his face. Scorpius’s heart squeezed sharply at his best friend’s pain, momentarily forgetting that it was himself who was causing it. Then Albus stepped deftly around the coffee table and left the room.

The sudden movement snapped Scorpius out of his terrified trance. He followed Albus, who had crossed the ground floor and was climbing the stairs.

“Al!” Albus showed no sign of turning around.

“Al, please, it’s not what you think.” They were inadequate words, cliched words. Not the ones he needed at all.

“You can do whatever you want with your own cock, Scorpius.”

Scorpius winced. Albus Potter had always chosen his words carefully. When he spoke, every syllable had meaning. When he aimed to wound, he cut to the bone.

Albus had reached his own room and stalked through the doorway, wrenching the door inward.

Scorpius stopped it with his hand before it closed. “That’s not fair —“

Albus whirled on him, eyes blazing. Scorpius staggered back a step at the sudden stop.

“Did you even wait twenty-four hours before you jumped from my lap into her bed?” Albus’s voice was biting, sarcastic, but the blow unwittingly struck home. Scorpius flinched, and in the moment of shocked silence, Albus understood.

“Merlin’s beard,” he whispered. “You didn’t, did you?”

Scorpius couldn’t deny it. Not to his face. But it hadn’t occurred to him to think about it like that. It wasn’t that the two events had nothing to do with each other, but they didn’t mean the same thing, not at all. How could he have failed to anticipate the way Albus would see it? How could he have forgotten that things weren’t necessarily private once he went outside anymore? He had been so careful over the last few months, so agonizingly careful, and in one impulsive moment, he’d completely ruined everything.

“Albus…”

“Holy shit…”

“I’m sorry —“

“So what I said that night, that meant so little to you, did it?”

“No!” Desperation and fear clawed at Scorpius’s throat. He needed to make him understand. This was not how it was supposed to go. Why were the words failing him just when he needed them the most? “No, absolutely not, Al. It meant a lot. It meant everything! Too much! I couldn’t —“

What was wrong with him? All he had to say was—

“I think you need to leave.” Albus was staring out the window now.

Scorpius stopped short. “What?”

“I think you need to get out of my house now.”

This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it. But then, he supposed, he’d done the real damage days ago. Scorpius felt pressure building in his throat, threatening to spill out. It fractured his voice, making him sound as broken as he felt. “Al, come on—“

“ _Please_.” Albus’s gaze was burning a hole through the glass. “Please, Scorpius, I don’t want to see you right now. Please, just...get out.”

Scorpius made it all the way back to his university dormitory before he collapsed against the door and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> Don't give up hope, friends. I always keep my promises.
> 
> Next week will be the finale.


	19. The Whole Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I was going to make a whole ‘nother chapter of angst before this one? Fuck that noise. You’re welcome.
> 
> Without further ado: your reward.

Scorpius grabbed a champagne flute off a waiter’s tray and glanced up at the paintings on the walls of the room, realizing he had taken it more as an excuse for something to do rather than a desire to drink the contents. Molly’s parents had chosen a nice place for their daughter’s send-off party, elegant without being ostentatious, and big enough to hold everybody. It was probably a more formal affair than Molly herself might have chosen, but she had told Scorpius that she didn’t mind being fussed-over every once in a while, especially since she’d heard that Columbia University dorms were not nearly as spacious or luxurious as the famed Ivy League might logically be able to boast. She’d told him this in the letter she’d stuffed in the envelope along with his invitation, the same letter that told him that it would mean a lot to her if he showed. Scorpius could read between the lines well enough; it would mean a lot to her if he could manage to be in the same room as Albus for a few hours.

Scorpius made his way over to where Molly was standing with her family, talking animatedly to her sister Lucy. Her face lit up when she saw him, and he felt himself smile genuinely as she reached out to hug him. A part of him was surprised at that. He’d seen a few Weasley relatives around — though he’d been studiously avoiding them as much as possible — and it seemed like they weren’t very sure how to react to his presence. He wondered what it might cost Molly to embrace him so readily. It was probably a very Malfoy thing to wonder.

“Glad you could make it,” Molly told him.

Scorpius nodded. “I wanted to make sure I saw you before you left.”

Scorpius could imagine that it might be confusing for Albus’s relatives, seeing him now after his long absence. His transgressions had been all over that tabloid, of course, so they knew what he’d done, and they probably knew how upset Albus was about it, but they probably didn’t know about what Albus had said the night before Lucius’s funeral. It was a very, very important piece of the puzzle.

“We’ve missed you,” Molly said softly. Scorpius looked up at her. He had missed her too, missed them all, missed Albus like he was missing one of his internal organs. One internal organ in particular, actually.

It had been a month since Scorpius had seen him, since he’d seen anyone, really. He had thrown himself into school, revising for finals at home and only leaving to experience sunlight every once in a while. As soon as exams were over, Draco had taken him to France, both so he could try and find Narcissa and so Scorpius could avoid people he knew altogether. Paris had been good as a distraction, but it had been a truly miserable holiday overall.

“I’ve missed you too.” Scorpius took a gulp of his champagne and grimaced. He still hated bubbly drinks; that was good to know.

“We’ve _all_ missed you,” Molly said more urgently. Scorpius didn’t meet her eyes. He really didn’t want to be here. It was easier to miss people when you didn’t have to be in the room with them. Then you didn’t have to be confronted with all the things that made you miss them.

Like the pair of familiar shoulders that had just hunched themselves over the bar. The knot in Scorpius’s stomach tightened significantly. He knew what it was like to run his hands over those shoulders, and wished he didn’t.

“Go talk to him.” Scorpius simply continued to stare, powerless, at the hard lines of Albus’s back. He tore his gaze away to look at his own shoes, black and shiny, and Molly’s, deep blue to match her dress. He didn’t answer her.

“Scorpius,” Molly said gently. “I know you’re miserable. But he’s been miserable too. Honestly, no one’s ever seen him like this. He needs his best friend, and so do you.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed gently. “You’re the only ones who can pull each other out of this.”

“Maybe I should just stay over here,” he whispered, mostly to himself. Then again, it wouldn’t be completely truthful to say that he had only come to Molly’s send-off party to see Molly. It’s what had gotten him out the door, sure, but it wasn’t the whole reason why he was here. He bet Molly knew that, and by the looks of it, she didn’t mind. He knew there was no way Albus was going to forgive him, no way that things were going to go back to the way they were, no way that Memory Charm was going to go on tour this summer as planned, no way that everything — possibly anything — would be all right again. He knew walking over to Albus right now wouldn’t fix any of that, but he couldn’t go any longer without trying to convey in some way or another just how sorry he was. He hated himself for having caused Albus pain, for betraying his love, for not saying how much he loved him in return. Maybe he couldn’t get back what he'd lost, and maybe it would be easier if he just let Albus hate him, and he was perfectly willing to hate himself in the meantime, but Scorpius didn’t want Albus to hate him. He couldn’t live with the thought of that for any longer than he already had.

“You go, I’ll stay,” Molly replied. Albus hadn’t moved from his position at the bar. Scorpius took a deep breath and looked at Molly for strength. She nodded.

The walk across the ballroom seemed to stretch on forever, but Scorpius focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The bartender was standing in front Albus now, making what Scorpius saw was probably a firewhiskey on the rocks. Maybe this event was just as painful for Albus as it was for him. The bartender slid the drink to Albus and smiled. Scorpius couldn’t tell if Albus returned it. Finally closing the distance between himself and the bar, he dropped his elbows onto the counter.

For several seconds, Scorpius stared at the bottles on the wall in front of him. They were color-coded. He swallowed hard, trying to think of something unassuming and inoffensive to say. He settled on “how’ve you been?”

Albus rolled his glass around in his fingers and didn’t answer.

“Al?” Scorpius prompted, cringing inwardly at the note of annoyance that crept into his voice. This was difficult for him, and he didn’t want to be ignored, no matter what he’d done to deserve it.

“What do you want?” Albus’s voice was flat, pulled taught like one of his guitar strings.

“I want to talk to you.”

Albus was silent again. Scorpius fought to be patient, daring a glance at Albus while he waited. In the harsh light from behind the bar, Albus looked gaunter than usual, the lines of his face sharp, jawline a dark shadow against his shirt collar. Scorpius could see the tension in his shoulders, in the way he scraped the side of the glass with his nails. From the twisted set of his mouth, it was clear he was worrying at the inside of his lip with his teeth. He looked tired, Scorpius realized. He thought about what Molly had said. _He’s been miserable, too_.

“Al, I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

Albus sighed heavily. His head drooped towards the firewhiskey. And he nodded. Scorpius saw rather than heard him whisper “okay.”

Scorpius fought the urge to suck in a relieved breath of air. “Can we step outside?” he ventured.

Albus nodded again. He placed his palm over the rim of his glass and held it there, then pushed it away from himself. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Scorpius led the way towards the side exit, holding the door while Albus stepped through it with a muttered “thanks”. The June air was warm, but the wind that ruffled Scorpius’s suit jacket brought with it a spattering of rain. He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering if he should have picked an indoor location to have this discussion. Albus removed his wand from his pocket and placed a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. Scorpius barely had time to register his own reaction from the sudden contact before the gut-wrench of Apparating hit him.

They appeared on the sidewalk in front of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. For the first time that Scorpius could remember, there were no lights on in the house. Everyone who lived there was at Molly’s party. He wondered why Albus had chosen this place. Home turf, maybe? He thought back to the last time he had seen the house and fought the bitter taste in his mouth.

Once he had closed the door behind them, Albus charmed the hall lights on and sat down heavily on the stairs. Scorpius watched this awkwardly from the entranceway, unsure of what to do.

“Do you want to sit down?” Albus asked, strangely and suddenly shy.

Yes. He did. He wanted to sit down and put his head on Albus’s lap while Albus ran his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep from the exhaustion of being banished. But he wasn’t going to say all that, so he simply sat down.

Neither of them said anything for a long minute, but they were both very aware of the fact that their knees were just barely touching from how close they sat on the stairs.

Scorpius broke the silence tentatively. “The picture, the one of me and Brenna in the magazine…Whatever we had been doing, we ended it that day. I was coming over here to tell you everything the next morning, but the paper beat me here.”

“Didn’t look like you were ending it in the picture,” Albus replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Scorpius drummed his fingers nervously on the stair, staring at the hall clock.

“That kiss was for luck,” he confessed.

“For luck?”

Scorpius nodded. “I went to go find out some things that day, things that I was going to come and tell you afterwards —“

“What things?”

The million dollar question.

Scorpius sighed. “My grandfather had my mother killed.”

It was the first time he had said it so blatantly. Not couched in a theory or buffered by relation through someone else. A statement of fact. It never got easier to say.

“ _He what_?”

Scorpius couldn’t stop talking or he’d lose his nerve. “He threatened you, too, on Christmas, and I was afraid of what might happen when he died… I figured this all out at the funeral, and I needed someone and Brenna was there and I —“

He shook his head. “She knew exactly why I went to her flat that night, why what happened happened. She knew I didn’t —“ He stopped, unable to articulate exactly what he didn’t feel about Brenna. “I don’t know.”

He ran an unsteady hand over his face. The inward vertigo of that night was returning in waves. He couldn’t make his thoughts line up. And Albus’s knee was still touching his. He could feel heat being drawn toward the point of contact like metal filings toward a magnet.

Scorpius leaned forward and held his head in his hands, eyes intent on the grain of the wood between his dress shoes.

“You remember how I said that I went to Brenna not because what you said didn’t mean anything but because it meant too much?”

“I remember.”

The words came out in a frantic rush. “That night, I was scared. Really fucking terrified, actually. I felt like my brain had switched off or exploded or something, like I wanted to be with you so bad but at the same time I was scared of what might happen if I was and I just couldn’t slow down or stop it or think about it or process it because it was already happening and I just felt everything so fucking strongly all at once but I couldn’t put a name to any of it and I just — fuck.“ He stopped, feeling the overwhelming and childish urge to let his frustration come out in tears, but he wrestled his voice into a lower tone and went on.

“At the funeral, I just fucking panicked. There was so much shit happening in my head at once and I needed it all to quiet down, to just stop for a minute so I could breathe and make my brain fucking work, figure out how to protect you.”

“And Brenna was there,” he repeated. “She was safe. And with her, I could be in control of my head. I _decided_ that I was going to hook up with her and I _did_. There was logic involved. It made me…calm, I guess. Killed the noise.”

He could feel Albus’s silence like a tangible thing. When Albus finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“That’s kind of fucked up as a therapy strategy.”

Scorpius barked out a laugh. “Kind of, yeah.”

“So,” Albus continued in the same measured tone, “how’s your brain now?”

Scorpius thought about it. His heart was squeezing painfully in his chest and his body ached from sitting so rigidly on the steps and so close to Albus, but his mind was inexplicably, bizarrely focused.

“It’s better,” he replied.

“Then why are you refusing to look at me?”

Scorpius bit his lip and felt his face grow hot. Just like Albus to be right on the money every time. The weight of how much he had missed his best friend hit him all over again. Some dark instinct inside him told him to lie, but he dismissed it. If there was ever a moment to be honest…

“Because I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll kiss you, and you won’t want me to anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Scorpius felt something in the base of his throat pinch painfully, heavy with the weight of what his confession might have just broken.

“Scor?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.” It came out somewhere between an order and a plea.

Dulled by the persistent pounding of his heart against his ribs, it took Scorpius’s brain several seconds to scrounge together a glimmer of hope. He met Albus’s eyes, watched his lashes blink, then close.

And then Albus’s lips were on his, and the world funneled.

It was the same as before, but different. He was definitely terrified, if the rushing of his pulse and the shaking of his hands were any indication. His brain was feverish, unable to form anything as complex as a whole thought in the simplicity of Albus’s thumbs brushing the sides of his face. He tried to take inventory of his emotions and failed. He was distracted by the knot of Albus’s tie, which took more than one try to undo. The only thing abundantly clear to him besides the fact that Albus’s lips on his were sending waves of pleasure through his insides was that he _wanted_ this. Wanted Albus closer than he was, wanted him to keep doing whatever he was doing with his hands, wanted to disappear somewhere away from the world and revel in this new kind of terror, a terror mixed with such intense relief at how at home in his chest it felt that it was making him dizzy.

Their first kiss was all it took to rearrange Scorpius’s priorities completely, to make Albus’s clear green gaze more important than oxygen. This kiss was finally being able to breathe.

Albus pulled away and rested their foreheads together. He was breathing quickly, tie gone and shirt buttons open to his sternum. Scorpius registered dully that his own neck was similarly bare, and his jacket had slipped off his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Albus whispered.

“I love you.”

It both was and wasn’t an answer to the question. He had only half-planned on saying it, but once it was out, he couldn’t bring himself to regret letting it escape. It was the whole truth. The first, last, and all the in-between things, nothing missing, nothing altered. It was every time that Albus’s touch had calmed him, every time his laugh had lit up a room or a whole day, every whispered nighttime conversation, every musical note shared between them, every wonderful moment and every shitty one when all he had wanted was Albus beside him.

“You do?” Albus sounded hoarse.

Scorpius nodded. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you. I was just so bloody afraid someone would take you away from me. But I do.”

“But what about—“

“That’s it,” Scorpius insisted. “That’s all there is. That’s all there is to know.”

Albus let out a breathy little laugh, shaking his head a little like he couldn’t really believe it, and kissed him again. Scorpius knew from firsthand experience that the impossibility of hearing something like that could be staggering. He didn’t begrudge Albus his disbelief.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Albus asked suddenly. Scorpius could feel the breath of his words against his own lips. The question prickled in the air, making it heavier. Scorpius’s heart pounded.

“Do I want to go upstairs like do I want to stop being shoved against a banister or do I want to go upstairs like do I _want to go upstairs_?”

“Whichever one of those is the more emphatic, I guess.” Albus pinched his fingers around the edge of Scorpius’s collar, playing absently with the fabric. Scorpius watched, hypnotized, as Albus’s teeth scraped slowly over his bottom lip. He knew it was an anxious motion, that Albus probably hadn’t done it to drive him insane, but he felt unhinged by it anyway.

“Whichever…kills more noise,” Albus clarified.

Scorpius’s insides twisted nervously, but not uncomfortably. “You sure?”

Albus nodded in response. “Only if you are,” he amended.

Scorpius could only bob his head in agreement. Albus took a deep breath and interlaced their fingers. With a gentle tug, he pulled Scorpius to his feet.

They made it all the way to Albus’s room with only their hands touching, and then Albus closed the door and surged forward to kiss him, pushing Scorpius against it. Scorpius sucked in a breath, sliding his hands into the messy silk of Albus’s hair. He kissed him deeply, trying to pour everything that he’d been bottling up for months — for years — into it. Albus’s hands slid over his chest, inside the gap created by Scorpius’s undone buttons and up over his shoulders. His hands were warm and strong and calloused by guitar strings. Scorpius wanted to melt under them. He wanted those hands to take him apart and put him back together again in whatever way they saw fit to do it.

He undid the buttons on Albus’s shirt and pushed everything off his shoulders. Albus’s chest and sides were warm and his heartbeat hammered under Scorpius’s palm as his breath stuttered. He pressed his mouth to Scorpius’s throat and Scorpius’s head hit the wood behind him. He pulled Albus flush against his own body, sighing brokenly at the pressure of the kisses moving down his neck.

“You can leave a mark,” he gasped. He wanted him to, badly. He wanted to be able to see it tomorrow and the next day, to have proof of this moment which seemed to have been ripped out of his most private dreams.

But then Albus’s teeth dug gently into his neck, just hard enough to hurt a little. It was the pinch that told him he was undeniably awake, that what was happening right now — he and Albus pressed against each other in ways he had given up hope of ever experiencing again — was real. He pushed forward to grind himself against Albus and was rewarded with a soft laugh that tickled against his collarbone. Albus sucked another bruise into his skin and Scorpius rolled his hips again, harder this time as Albus pushed to meet him.

He opened his eyes when Albus pulled himself away, confused since all his blood was rushing to his cheeks and his cock. But Albus was only moving away far enough to slide his hands between their bodies and take hold of the topmost still-closed button on Scorpius’s shirt. Scorpius watched him, slack-jawed and breathing hard, as he kissed the spot right above the button, then undid it, then kissed an inch lower. He repeated the process, slowly, moving downward a kiss at a time. Scorpius let a moan escape his lips and leaned against the door for support. He had imagined something like this, tried not to and failed a hundred times over, but it was nothing compared to how it felt in real life. He carded his fingers through Albus’s hair again as Albus’s knees hit the carpet. Albus glanced up at him through his lashes as he pressed a kiss just under Scorpius’s navel. Scorpius’s legs threatened to buckle.

“Al,” he breathed.

“What?” Albus paused, his fingertips hanging onto the pockets of Scorpius’s slacks. He smiled, making Scorpius want to steal a constellation out of the sky and bring it back for him. Any one he wanted, no matter what its name was.

Scorpius stroked his cheek. “Come back up here.”

Albus obeyed, and Scorpius kissed him hard, crushing their mouths together and wrapping his arms tightly around him so Albus’s hands were trapped between their chests. He could feel Albus’s bare skin against his own stomach and wanted to feel more of it. Desire licked through his chest like a pleasant burn, and Scorpius decided he would gladly throw himself into the fire if it meant he could keep holding onto Albus this tightly.

He had waited so long, as patiently as he could. He had even tried to reconcile himself to the possibility of never kissing Albus again, a feat which seemed as ridiculous as it was impossible right now. The two of them were inevitable, epic, indestructible, the only two heartbeats in the entire world. He was always meant to do this, to kiss Albus breathless and soak him in and throw open wide the doors of his heart to let Albus into the place he’d always wanted him to be.

He loved Albus so fiercely that sometimes it scared him, but he had never felt safer than he did in Albus’s arms.

His back sank into the mattress of Albus’s bed, and Albus fell forward on top of him. Scorpius’s eyes went wide and he laughed, delighted, as Albus caught himself on his hands just shy of crashing into him. He kissed Albus’s nose, and Albus grinned before returning the kiss full on his mouth, making a pleased, drawn out sound in the back of his throat. It had been so, so difficult not to do this, so painful to hold back, that licking into Albus’s mouth and kissing his swollen bottom lip was like an inhalation after being underwater for a year.

Scorpius felt so very alive.

He ground his erection against Albus’s thigh and flipped them over. They were both grinning against each other’s mouths. Scorpius sat up, bracketing Albus’s thighs with his knees, and set to work on Albus’s belt buckle, glancing up in case of a move to stop him. But Albus wasn’t even looking at Scorpius’s face. He was looking at his hands as he slid the belt open, palms rubbing gently up and down Scorpius’s thighs. And then they were both moving, tearing at remaining clothing until Scorpius could toss Albus’s trousers and pants off the side of the bed and look at him, flushed and completely bare. He knew what Albus’s body looked like, had dragged his gaze away from it enough times to recognize the design and architecture of him, but he had never been able to look at him so completely, so openly, to drink in the sight without fear or embarrassment or uncertainty. Albus had a slight tan line across his hips, and Scorpius was suddenly jealous of the sun for having been able to kiss Albus places he wanted to himself. He let his gaze wander over Albus’s stomach and hips and cock, which answered a few questions Scorpius had not permitted himself to ask before now.

“You’re so beautiful,” Scorpius said softly.

Scorpius watched Albus blush and thought he might die right there.

“And,” he added, “you have no idea how hard it was not to jump you every fucking day in this house.”

Albus laughed and eyed Scorpius’s crotch.

“Yes,” Albus said. “I can see exactly how hard it was.”

“Real mature, Al,” Scorpius replied through a laugh.

“I definitely do love you, you know,” Albus told him.

They crashed back together with a ferocity that left Scorpius gasping. Albus stroked him easily, almost lazily, and it was too much and not enough. He tried to still Albus’s hand, and Albus made a confused, complaining noise.

“I want to make you come first,” Scorpius explained. He dragged his teeth over Albus’s earlobe.

“It’s not a competition.” Albus’s voice sounded a little wrecked, and Scorpius felt the vibration of it against his own chest.

“No…” Scorpius removed Albus’s hand and wrapped his fingers around Albus’s cock. It was slick and hot in his hand, and he realized Albus must have done some kind of lubrication spell while he wasn’t paying attention. He was paying attention now.

“It’s just, mmm…what I want.” He ran his thumb over the slit at the tip, and Albus fell back hard against the mattress.

“Fuck, Scor.” Scorpius’s heart thrilled at the sound of it. He could listen to Albus moan his name forever. In fact, he meant to.

He worked Albus’s cock quickly, then slower, then sped back up again, watching Albus writhe under him, sometimes screwing up his face in frustration, sometimes laughing at Scorpius’s obvious teasing, sometimes letting go of a needy whine that Scorpius just needed to taste coming out of his mouth.

But then he got a hand around Scorpius as well, and gave as good as he got. Scorpius could feel the tension building in his body, pulling his muscles taught, and tried hard to concentrate on keeping Albus thrusting into his fist. Albus twisted his wrist just so, and Scorpius gasped, feeling his hand grow slack around Albus. Albus chuckled, igniting something warm and expansive inside Scorpius’s chest despite his annoyance that Albus appeared to be cheating. He redoubled his efforts, and Albus ground out a moan through his teeth.

Scorpius felt the tension build further, threatening to boil over. He hissed out a breath, trying to keep it at bay, trying to focus on anything except how tight and perfect Albus’s gorgeous fingers felt around his cock, the same talented way he pulled a melody out of his guitar. Like some kind of magic.

He was going to lose this fight, and he started to laugh at the ludicrous and incredible freedom of it. It turned into a gasp halfway through as a wave of pleasure hit him hard, dragging him into the undertow as it closed over his head.

Sound came back to him slowly, and he realized Albus had placed his free hand over Scorpius’s own, still moving in attempt to follow Scorpius over the edge. In a daze, Scorpius watched Albus move his hand over his length, then watched him arch up off the mattress, mouth open in a silent cry as he spilled onto his stomach. He kept Scorpius’s hand moving until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then relaxed, boneless, eyes closed. Scorpius watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and decided he was definitely going to have to make that happen again very soon.

They lay there in silence, catching their breath. There was a feeling sitting in Scorpius’s stomach, one that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. One he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so completely anymore.

Peace.

He rolled his head to the side to look at Albus, who was already looking back at him. They were safe. Here, in this house, in this world, they were finally safe. Finally at home in each other, with nothing and no one to take it away from them.

“Not a competition, eh?” Scorpius teased.

Albus grinned cheekily. “I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Scorpius nodded. Albus reached for his wand to clean them off. “I see how it is.”

When his hands were clean, Scorpius threaded his fingers through Albus’s and brought his palm to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on it.

“Next time,” he said, “the title is mine.”

Albus giggled. “Sure,” he said, leaning forward so their noses brushed. “Whatever you say.”

They kissed slowly, leisurely, in no rush to go anywhere or do anything except simply be with each other. Time passed, and they didn’t care. They had let so much time pass them by already, so much time that could have been spent like this, legs tangled together, fingers in hair and brushed over cheeks and shoulders and chests and backs, trading kisses and whispered things that they should have said ages ago. They talked about that night on the roof the summer before seventh year, talked about Memory Charm and the things they’d written while they were apart, talked about where they would go from here.

Later, when they were both wearing pairs of Albus’s joggers and had placed all their Hogwarts professors onto a fictitious Quidditch team lineup and Albus was curled up on Scorpius’s chest listening as he hummed a tune, Albus said “You’re going to stay, right?”

And Scorpius replied “As long as you want me, I’ll be right here”.

Albus placed a kiss onto his neck and closed his eyes, snuggling closer. “I’ve wanted you here for a very long time,” he assured him. “We’ll move you back in tomorrow.”


	20. Constellation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t decide on which ending to use, so I gave you all of them. Or: pure, uninhibited fluff.

**July**

 

Scorpius woke up to Albus kissing his shoulder. He smiled without opening his eyes, sliding his hand over Albus’s back. Albus was running his fingers through Scorpius’s hair, brushing it off his forehead gently as he kissed his cheek.

“Hi there,” Scorpius said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” Albus replied. Scorpius could feel him shifting on the bed beside him, adjusting his position as he kissed across Scorpius’s chest to his other shoulder, up his neck to his other cheek. Scorpius kept his eyes closed and absently dragged the fingers of his left hand over Albus’s side. He made no effort to lift the pleasant haze of sleep off his mind, floating in darkness and the sensations of Albus’s mouth on his skin.

“Are you awake?” Albus asked.

“Mhm,” Scorpius hummed. “A little.”

Albus kissed him then, slow and lingering and sumptuous as he settled fully on top of Scorpius. They were both evidently hard, and the pressure felt delicious. Scorpius let out a contented moan.

“Are you awake now?” Albus placed a closed-mouth kiss on Scorpius’s lips, then another, messier and irresistible, even though they both tasted a bit dodgy at the moment. Scorpius draped lazy arms around Albus’s neck, heaving a sigh against his lips.

“I’m getting there.”

He was actually quite surprised that Albus was awake before him, especially since...was it Saturday? Yes, it was Saturday, and usually on mornings like this, Scorpius was the one to wake up Albus with lazy kisses and wandering hands. Usually it took several minutes to wake him, too. But he wasn’t exactly about to complain. Especially since Albus appeared to be dragging his tongue over all the most sensitive areas of Scorpius’s chest and stomach.

“ ‘Feels nice, Al.” He felt boneless and sluggish in the best way, completely relaxed on Albus’s pillows. Or were they his pillows? Scorpius couldn’t be bothered to remember which side of the hallway they’d ended up on last night. They had finished one leg of their tour as of today, and were due to start another in a few days. Everyone was catching up on sleep, so it was definitely after noon.

“Yeah?”

Albus placed a kiss on one side of his ribs. A moment later, Scorpius could feel his lips on the other side.

“Definitely.”

“Good,” Albus said mildly. Scorpius could hear the smile in his voice, could picture it so clearly in his mind that he didn’t need to actually see it. He stretched his arms up over his head, luxuriating, stretching his sleep-stiff muscles to relax them before he fully became a participant in whatever they were doing right now.

Then Albus licked a long, firm line all the way up his cock and his entire upper body shot up off the bed. A truly embarrassing noise ripped out of his throat, which turned into a laugh as he slammed back down onto the mattress.

They’d done a fair amount of lovely things to each other’s bodies in the last month, but that was new.

“Definitely awake now,” he croaked, finally opening his eyes to look at Albus. “Happy?” Albus only grinned, shrugged, and placed a kiss on his hip, before swallowing him down to a seemingly impossible degree.

“Holy fucking — hng, Al…” Albus appeared to be trying to dismantle his brain, and was succeeding.

“Shit, that feels so good.” Scorpius clawed at the sheets underneath him, not wanting to pull Albus’s hair and not knowing if he could stop himself from doing it once he actually touched him. He was fighting hard not to buck his hips up as it was. It felt amazing, a perfect harmony of Albus’s mouth and tongue and hands and —

Albus did something tricky with his tongue, and Scorpius let out a long moan, the only sound he was capable of besides profanity. He let himself drown in the sensations of it, breathing hard and trying to convey as much as possible how profoundly good it felt to have Albus take him apart. He could feel his muscles pull tighter and tighter in anticipation.

Albus pulled his mouth away, though he kept going with his hand. Scorpius realized dimly that Albus was laughing.

“What?” he gasped. “What’s so funny?”

“I, er—“ Albus shook his head, chuckling. “I forgot to put a Silencing charm on the door.”

Scorpius lifted his head to look at him, though his own shoulders were shaking with laugher. “Well don’t fucking stop _now_!”

As if on cue, a muffled voice from the direction of the hallway that was definitely Hugo shouted “shut the fuck up!”

It was impossible not to laugh, and Scorpius did not think he’d ever laughed this hard with anyone touching his cock. He looked at Albus, and a kind of understanding passed between them.

Albus lowered his head again, and Scorpius didn’t even try to be quiet.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop! Oh, Al, your mouth, it’s incredible! Oh! Yes! Fuck, yes!”

“I will kill you both!” came from the outside the door.

“Scor,” Albus said, raising his head again to speak at a normal volume, “you need to stop making me laugh or this is not going to work.”

“I’ll think about it. Actually — shit — I can’t — oh, fuck, I’m actually close — Yes! Faster! Uhhh…yes!”

Albus snorted.

“Fuck me harder!”

“Sick bastards!” That was from the other side of the door.

Albus was struggling to hold himself together, and Scorpius was seconds from losing it completely in every sense of the term.

Something heavy slammed into the door. It sounded like it was probably a shoe. Or a textbook.

“Oh, yeah! Albus, you’re amazing! Oh, yeah, just like” — giggle — “just like that! Fuck, fu-oh…”

Scorpius came hard under Albus’s hand, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, caring not a whit how loud he was and hoping the whole house could hear. He collapsed back down and Albus keeled over onto his side, shaking with laughter and clutching at his sides.

“Fuck,” he wheezed. “My abs hurt. Fucking hell, Scor.”

Once they started, they couldn’t stop. Every time one of them would calm down enough to stop laughing, the other one would set them off. Brenna banged on the door and offered to shove a Silencing charm up their asses next time, and Albus literally fell off the bed from laughing so hard.

It had been a very long time since Scorpius had seen Albus laugh like that, since he himself had done it. He leaned on his forearms over the side of the bed to watch Albus pull himself together on the floor.

“Whew!” Albus breathed. “That was good.”

Albus’s eyes had been streaming and he had his arms wrapped around his middle again, but his smile was as wide as Scorpius had ever seen it. A stream of sunlight hit him just enough to set him aglow while he caught his breath.

“I’ll say it was,” Scorpius agreed. “When do I get to do that to you?”

“As soon as I can breathe,” Albus promised.

It took a while for either of them to move, green eyes locked on deep brown. They soaked each other in with the easy pace of the morning, with the effortlessness of people who know they have a lot to look forward to.

Scorpius reached out a hand, finally, and Albus weakly pawed at it before grabbing on so Scorpius could pull him back onto the bed. He kept tugging until Albus was back under the covers and Scorpius could no longer quite tell where he ended and Albus began.

Scorpius kissed him, insistent and probing, reaching behind him for the bedside table. With a wink at Albus, he pointed his wand at the door.

“ _Silencio_.”

 

**August**

 

O.K. stopped short and Scorpius almost collided with him from behind.

“Look!” O.K. pointed at the chalkboard sign leaning on the sidewalk. “Open mic night: songs and secrets,” he read. “Sounds good!”

“Looks pretty low-key in there,” Hugo observed. “I’m in.”

The six of them had been wandering for a while: Memory Charm and their artistic director (Rose had dropped the manager title a while ago to do their sound and lighting and special effects full-time). Their tour was over, and they had reached fourteen cities before they’d had to rejoin the real world. It had been an incredible summer, the best of Scorpius’s life, certainly. They had made it completely impossible for the Wizarding World to ignore them, and had even been invited to speak at a Ministry summit as advocates. Scorpius had seen Des Carlyle in the crowd that day, the most concrete proof he had that what they were doing had actually changed hearts and minds and lives and policies the way they wanted it to. And the fact that Albus was the last thing he saw at night and the first thing he saw in the morning definitely helped improve his outlook on life.

The only snags had been Rose’s brief patent battle over her magical video camera (which Brenna had litigated for her and won), and the fact that it had gotten more difficult for them to go out in Wizarding London, especially as an entire group, though a rumor that Brenna and Rose were in the habit of hexing paparazzi (they were) meant the peak of the inconvenience was behind them. All the same, they had taken to finding Muggle pubs on the outskirts of the city, trying for a new one every time they ventured out for a pint. Scorpius was unsurprised that this particular pub, The Red Lion, appealed to Hugo and O.K. even without the promise of live music.

They ducked inside and chose a table in the back, begging some extra chairs off nearby patrons as they settled themselves in. Scorpius threw an arm over the back of Albus’s chair, and Albus slid a surreptitious hand over his knee under the table. There might come a time, Scorpius thought, when a casual touch from Albus would not send butterflies tickling the inside of his ribcage, but he had evidently not yet reached it. If he was honest with himself, which he often was, he didn’t want it to arrive quite so soon.

The sign was true to its claim, as each person who stepped up to the microphone revealed something about themselves before beginning their performance. Scorpius wasn’t sure what the definition of a “secret” was here; some of the statements seemed rather tame for things no one else was supposed to know. Some were entertaining, though. One woman admitted to having snogged one of her university professors at a bar before she knew he was going to be teaching her introductory biology class. That one got a few laughs. Another man said he had believed an air guitar was a real, physical type of guitar until he was fifteen years old. Brenna leaned over to ask Scorpius if he thought air guitar man might be a wizard.

Wizard or no, air guitar man turned out to be quite talented, and didn’t get too flustered when he bungled a chord midway through “I See Fire”. There was also a tiny young woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen and made an impressive Amy Winehouse, drawing encouraging whoops from several people in the pub.

After tiny Amy Winehouse had taken a small bow, the emcee — a pleasant, pudgy fellow in a flannel shirt — pulled the microphone back up to his height and asked for volunteers. After a moment, he stepped forward and shielded his eyes against the stage light. Then his eyes went wide, and for a moment he stood frozen. It was a long enough moment for Scorpius to realize that Albus was raising his hand.

Two seconds ticked by while people turned to look and the emcee stood frozen.

“I know,” Scorpius called, breaking the silence. “He’s just bloody gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Several people laughed. The tension melted away, and the emcee broke into an easy, if slightly nervous chuckle, motioning for Albus to come up to the stage. Scorpius wasn’t planning on moving with him, but Albus tugged on his sleeve, so he found himself following all the way up to where the emcee was standing.

“Merlin,” the emcee whispered. “You’re really them, aren’t you?”

Albus shrugged. “I suppose we are.”

“Sorry, I was just surprised is all. Didn’t mean to get weird about it.” He held out a hand to Albus. “Matt O’Connell. Big fan. It’s great to meet you.”

Albus shook his hand, and Scorpius followed.

“Just, er, step right up, I guess,” Matt told them, motioning to the stage. “I suppose you know the drill.”

They settled themselves on the two stools onstage, smiling wryly at their friends’ obvious cheering from the back. Scorpius looked over at Albus while he adjusted the microphone stand to where he wanted it. He was settling the pub’s loaner guitar over his knee, apparently oblivious to the weirdness of what they were doing. But then, maybe it wasn’t so odd. They had started playing in pubs like this, after all — not so long ago, in fact. It was so quiet, nothing like the pre-song roar that had followed them for the last few months. Plus, Scorpius didn’t always get to watch Albus when they were playing on a big stage. He shifted himself to the side a little, still facing forward enough to be seen by the people sitting on the floor without having to turn his head much to see Albus. Albus looked up and smiled at him, pure and open. Scorpius couldn’t believe that smile was for him.

“Who the fuck are you?” someone called good-naturedly from beyond the glare of the singular spotlight.

Scorpius chuckled. “Er, hi,” he said into the microphone. “I’m Scorpius. This is Al.”

“Hi!” someone else called. Scorpius was suddenly glad Albus had volunteered them for this.

“What’s your secret?”

Oh. That. Scorpius locked eyes with Albus, eyebrows raised in a question. From the look on Albus’s face, he hadn’t thought this through.

“We’re, er, going to confer,” Scorpius said. He placed a hand over the microphone and leaned over to whisper in Albus’s ear.

“There is one pretty obvious one,” he said.

This thing between them, new and old and bright as it was, had been carefully hoarded over the summer. In private, they were inseparable — obnoxious, even, as several of their housemates could attest — but they hadn’t determined that anyone else — and by extension, _everyone_ else — outside their immediate circle, could know yet. There wasn’t really a reason for holding back besides the fact that it was new and they didn’t want to answer invasive questions about it — it wasn’t like they planned on ever letting go of each other — but they had stayed silent about it all the same. If they were going to make a trial run of the announcement, this was probably a good place to do it, considering the fact that only Matt the emcee seemed to be aware of who they were to the Wizarding World and pretty easygoing to boot. But Scorpius wasn’t willing to go there if Albus wasn’t.

Albus hesitated, certainly considering it, but not sure.

“Can we say it at the end?” Scorpius asked Matt. Matt shrugged and nodded.

“You can decide later,” he whispered to Albus.

“I have a backup one if we need it,” Albus replied.

“Perfect. Okay,” he said back into the mic. “We’re going to sing a song for you.” He looked at Albus, realizing they didn’t have a plan. It was kind of fun and a little jarring not to have a set list.

“What do you want to sing?” Albus asked him.

Scorpius simply shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Albus hesitated for a few moments, tugging at strings in an aimless pattern that Scorpius knew was his way of getting acquainted with the instrument in his hands. He was going to let the natural melody of his fingers choose where they went. Scorpius had long since accepted Albus’s natural melody as a worthy guide for his music and his heart. Eventually, the notes melted into something Scorpius could recognize. It wasn’t one of their songs, like he expected. He nodded along to the tune, signaling that he knew the song and was ready to go. Albus repeated the lead in once more, and Scorpius opened his mouth to sing.

 

_If I told my secrets_

_If you knew the truth_

_If I lay before you_

_What else could I lose?_

 

Scorpius liked this song, and had listened to it with Albus a few days before. It was sweet and soft and made for acoustic, something most of Memory Charm’s songs were not. It was the perfect song to sing here, in this tiny pub far from the shiny, harsh lighting of the rest of their music. They’d chosen that, of course, were addicted to it the way they weren’t addicted to anything else except each other, but this? This felt like a breath of fresh air all the same.

Albus joined in for a harmony, floating over and around Scorpius’s voice expertly. Scorpius was positive he was improvising it. He closed his eyes and let the beauty of their melded voices wash over him, feeling a smile spread unbidden across his face. It felt like writing their first song had felt, secluded and intimate and honest.

The music ebbed and flowed around them, through them, within them.

They reached a pause in the words where the guitar took over, and Scorpius looked over to watch Albus. He sat bent over the guitar, eyes closed, a soft smile playing over his features, letting his fingers fly over the strings in many more notes and for several seconds longer than Peter Bradley had probably originally intended his song to contain. There were several whoops from the audience, but Scorpius barely heard them. He wanted to get lost in this, to live in the soft flow of those notes, but Albus glanced up at him. The words were about to come in again.

Scorpius began to sing again, but his eyes never left Albus’s. The harmonies came around, and Albus sang too, both of them connected by something more powerful than anyone in this pub knew.

Try as they might have to put it off, the song neared the end. Scorpius sang the final words to Albus, intent on the meaning.

 

_Why am I so heavy_

_When my heart is so free?_

_If I’m not the one you wanted_

_Who else could I be?_

 

Something had changed in Albus’s face. He had made a decision.

 

_Who else could I be?_

 

This really had been the right song to pick, hadn’t it?

 

_Who else could I be?_

 

The pub burst into applause, or at least as much as it could considering how few people were there. Albus’s eyes sparkled as he leaned towards Scorpius, who met him halfway in a kiss. It was bright under the stage light, and Scorpius’s heart seeped warmth from it all the way through his chest.

The kiss wasn’t nearly as long as Scorpius wanted it to be, but that was all right. Albus grinned at him and pressed another quick peck to his lips.

“So that’s our secret,” he said into his own microphone.

Scorpius laughed. It really wasn’t much of a secret.

 

**September**

 

Albus found Scorpius sitting on the back stoop with his notebook. He had been writing lyrics, but had since devolved into geometric doodles. He was writing with a toothpick, just so he could use the special properties of the notebook. And he wasn’t hiding, though he thought Albus might accuse him of it. He’d just wanted to watch the sun set over the ocean, and everyone inside had been too busy for that.

Albus sat down next to him and leaned over to look at the page.

“Looks pretty good.” Albus offered.

Scorpius held the notebook out to eye level. “I _was_ writing, but it looks like I’m just messing about at this point.”

Albus cracked a grin. “Messing about’s good.” He reached out tentatively for the notebook, and Scorpius relinquished it, noting the look of mild surprise on Albus’s face when he did so. Even now, he could be could be very private about his lyrics; it was an unspoken rule that no one touched the notebook without permission, even Albus. But the song he was writing was about Albus, and he planned on singing it for thousands of people some day, so he might as well see it now. Scorpius watched Albus’s eyes follow his angular scrawl across the page. It was marred by cross-outs in some places and circled for emphasis in others, but there was only one set of lyrics:

 

_When you moved, I came alive_

_Bright and brief and just for you_

_And then you placed me in the sky_

_To burn forever_

_A simple constellation, impossible and true_

_One only you can find_

_One only for you_

 

Albus didn’t say anything for a minute. Scorpius wrote lyrics all the time, and only some of them even made it to the musical stage of the process. Sometimes, when he wasn’t trying to get something across, the lyrics made little sense, and the rest of Memory Charm had to infer or guess or even just give up trying to figure out what they meant. He had never written a song so blatantly about Albus before. Or at least, not one that anyone understood to be about Albus.

“Only for me, huh?”

Scorpius only smiled shyly and fiddled with his shoe lace, not looking at Albus. He was so very in love with him, and he wished sometimes that he could display it somewhere where people would still see it in two thousand or ten thousand years.

“Hey,” Albus whispered. Scorpius looked up. The kiss wasn’t long, but it was sweet and enough for now.

“I would definitely come alive for that.”

Scorpius chuckled, and Albus gave the notebook back. He slipped his hand over Scorpius’s, fingertips touching. A spider on a mirror. Scorpius soon felt the comforting weight of Albus’s head on his shoulder, and caused the spider to do a push-up.

“That’s going to be a good song,” Albus said. “I can tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes a village to raise a fanfic, and this one is no exception. Thank you to, in no particular order, @graceofthegods, my muse; @potatojuiceplease, my incredibly sweet and attentive Fandom of One; Gowan, my trusty encyclopedia; Daniel, my partner in crime and midnight resource; Isabel, queen of headcanons and all she surveys; everyone who shocked the socks off me by saying that writing a novel-sized Harry Potter fanfic was really cool; everyone who listened to me bitch and moan and talk their ear off about this fic for literal years; and, most importantly, YOU, for giving my poor little story some love and attention!


	21. BONUS ART

Thanks to the absolutely INCREDIBLE Riva for this art. I'm deceased from this beauty and I hope everyone else is too. Check out her art blog at [chotomy.tumblr.com](chotomy.tumblr.com)! Also everyone mark your calendars for this tour. I hear it's gonna be lit.

 

In case you're on a phone or something and the photo's not showing up nicely, here's a [link](https://66.media.tumblr.com/935636a9a1f295f8f9aeb0db314ebc36/tumblr_pt60g6Euyq1rhkv7ho1_r2_1280.jpg).

 


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